


we were all just humans

by MayWilder



Series: we were all just humans [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American royalty is like the UK, Bodyguard AU, EXTREMELY self-indulgent, Fluff, M/M, Modern Royalty, Prince Harley, as usual, bodyguard Peter, congress is like parliament, lil angst, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayWilder/pseuds/MayWilder
Summary: “If you’re going to work for him, you need to have more to offer than protection,” Barton says. His voice is heavy. “Harley’s life isn’t easy, and it’s been extra hard since he was shot. He’s a good kid, and he just…needs a friend.”“He doesn’t have friends?”“He has friends, but its different. He needs to feel safe with you, and he won’t feel safe if some stiff in a suit is breathing down his neck every second of the day. Prince Harley is more than a job.”“And you think I should apply for the position?” Peter asks slowly. “That I would be good at it?”“I think you’ll be great, kid,” Barton answers. “You’re a good friend to everyone who knows you, and you have the skill set to properly protect. Harley will need someone like you, especially since we haven’t found his attacker. Let him live his life, but protect him above that. Royal bodyguards don’t just protect the physical body of the Starks. You protect the whole person.”***Or, the prince needs protection, and Peter is going to provide it.





	1. oh, hello; its going to be you

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I this way? Who knows. I wanted Prince Harley and unassuming bodyguard Peter, so here we are. Feel free to yell at me in the comments.

“You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me."

"I am completely serious."

"I don't need some paid ass to follow me around everywhere I go!"

"The three months you spent recovering from a _gunshot wound to the neck_ beg to differ."

"Mom!"

"Harley!"

Peter listens to the arguing from the other side of the wall. The head of security, known as Happy, looks on with a stoic face, while Bucky and Natasha flank the doorway.

"This is fairly normal," Happy explains with a hint of annoyance. "The prince doesn't like to be told what to do. After these arguments are when he is most prone to sneaking out. Be on alert."

Peter nods once. He's been told that Happy doesn't like mouthy people. If words aren't necessary, don’t use them.

The yelling has died down from the king's study, and the door soon opens. The queen stands in the doorway, not at all what is expected of royalty in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but somehow looking regal.

"Happy." Queen Virginia “Pepper’ Potts brushes her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders. "Please bring Peter in."

The study is a disastrous blend of modern technology and old-school decorating. A large oak desk holds the latest in Stark technology, ornate tapestries hang on the wall, and King Anthony "Tony" Stark himself wears a strangely regal robe over a stylish tracksuit. Peter has no idea how his last observation can even exist, and yet here he is.

Standing by a large window is the prince. Peter has seen pictures of him before, but this is the first time in person. He’s as painfully gorgeous in person as the media paints him to be. Somehow there’s an attractive quality to the surly pout of the young man, and Peter finds it difficult to look away.

“Peter,” the queen says, smiling warmly. “Thank you so much for coming in early.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“None of that,” the king waves his hand. “Call us Tony and Pepper. The titles weird me out from people who risk their lives for us.”

“Of course…Mr. Stark.”

The man grins. “Fair enough. Sit down, Peter.”

Peter sits in the chairs across from the desk, where Mr. Stark sits down and lounges back. “Alright. Happy has basically hired you, but we wanted to see you for ourselves and have a frank conversation. You’ve never been in the military, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Peter swallows and concentrates on _not_ bouncing his knees. “I am trained in a variety of weapons, however, as well as hand-to-hand combat.”

“And where did you learn all of that?” Mrs. Stark questions.

“My uncle was a cop,” he answers. “Being able to protect yourself was very important to him. When he passed away, I um, I worked really hard to do that. For myself and for my aunt. I’ve worked some security jobs since high school, and guarded Senator Ross’ daughters for one year before I was referred to apply for this job.”

Mr. Stark leans back in his chair. “I see. And you understand how demanding the job is? You’ll be expected to guard Harley from eight am until ten pm. In between, you’ll have to live at the palace and be on call. The night shift guard will answer to you, as well as a small team of guards all dedicated to Harley. You’ll work closely with Harley’s coordinator, Sheila, so you know where he is, and when, at all times.”

“Yes sir, I understand.”

“Harley,” Mrs. Stark says. “Are you going to say hello to your new bodyguard?”

Harley turns and crosses his arms at Peter. His eyes rake up and down a few times. “You’re smaller than I expected.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter says. “You’re brattier than expected.”

Mrs. Stark laughs, while Harley’s shoulders stiffen slightly. The king stands and leans over the desk to offer his hand. “Welcome to royal family, Peter Parker. You start right now.”

**)-(**

Harley stands in front of the mirror, rotating to see how the clothes fit.

“Too tight?” he asks his friends.

“Nah,” Thomas grins. “Your ass looks great.”

“What ass?” Ginger snorts, not even looking up from her place on the bed.

“Exactly!” Thomas says. He pokes at his sister. “The jeans need to be tight so we can see what little he has.”

“Rude,” Harley grumbles. He tugs at the sleeves of his sweater. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“How are we sneaking past the new bodyguard?” Ginger asks. “Abby sent me a picture of him, he looks pretty serious.”

“Whatever,” Harley scoffs. “When I saw him, I couldn’t believe he passed Happy’s expectations. He’s small and baby-faced. He watched Senator Ross’ kids, and he’s like twenty-two.”

“Senator Ross’ kids never went anywhere.”

“Exactly. He basically spent a year going to tea parties. And, he’s a year younger than us, but he’s supposed to protect me.”

“He’s got kind of a cute innocence look to him.” Thomas wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you can corrupt him.”

Harley considers the idea. The new bodyguard _is_ cute. Dark hair, warm brown eyes, strong jaw and short enough that Harley could easily tower over in a kiss. Speaking of kissing, his lips…

“Maybe.” Harley turns and reaches for a jacket to put over his sweater. “Anyways, I built a retractable ladder for our escape. Open the window and tap three times on the sill. It’ll slide out, and we’ll climb down that.”

“Follow the usual tunnel from the garden?” Ginger grins.

“Always.”

As they head out for the night, Harley takes a moment to appreciate his friends. Ginger and Thomas are the children of the palace chef. They’ve been his friends since the adoption when they were about thirteen. He doesn’t have a single memory of the palace that doesn’t include these two. They’re the ones who showed him all of the secret tunnels, and the only two people who don’t let him get stuck inside his own head. They're normal and fun, and always exactly what Harley needs.

By the time they make it to the club they’ve picked, Harley is completely confident that Peter is still sitting outside of his suite at the palace. He lets himself relax. He closes his eyes and throws back a couple shots. He’s going to have a good time tonight, and he’s not going to think about three months he’s spent locked up in the palace. No, he’s going to find a cute boy to dance with and—

“Fuck me,” Harley groans when he opens his eyes. He can’t believe what he’s looking at. “How in the _hell?_ ”

“What?” Ginger asks with a frown. “You’re—oh, shit! _He found us?_ ”

Across the bar, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, is Peter. Harley doesn’t know whether to be infuriated that he’s been followed or impressed at how the other man found him and changed into club appropriate attire. In fact, he looks amazing in skinny jeans, a see-through black shirt, and black boots. It doesn't make any sense.

“That is impressive, you gotta admit that,” Thomas cackles. "He looks like he's been here longer than us!"

“Tony put a tracker on me, that's the only thing that explains it,” Harley huffs. He reaches for the whiskey in Thomas’ hand, ignoring the cry of outrage to drink it down. “Alright, friends. I’m going to go handle this.”

“You could just accept that you need protection,” Ginger offers dryly. When Harley shoots her a look, she gazes back with no remorse. “Harley, what is the harm in him existing? You don’t have to refuse protection just to be an ass.”

“I’m not doing it to be an ass, I’m doing it because I’m tired of being suffocated. I just got my legs back under me, I don't want to feel like I can't get back to living my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be one thing or the other.”

Harley purses his lips and turns away, striding towards Peter. The other man perks up a little at his approach. He smirks and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Your Highness.”

“None of that,” Harley snaps. At the slightly hurt look on Peter’s face, he feels a twinge of regret. “Sorry. It’s just—how did you find me? Is Dad tracking me?”

“No,” Peter says. “Clint said you tend to sneak out after night, and Happy told me to be on guard. I had someone posted to watch your windows, and I got the call when you left. I had them follow you while I grabbed a change of clothes and caught up.”

“Why change?”

“I’m not trying to ruin your night, Your Highness.” The bodyguard glances over his shoulder as if looking at Ginger and Thomas. “I think it would be better to blend in, anyways. The bouncer is keeping an eye out for suspicious people, and I have two others stationed outside in case anything happens. You’re free to do whatever you want. I’m just a precaution.”

Harley takes in the earnest look on the boy’s face. He does seem sincere, and he’s the first bodyguard that Harley’s had who shares his plans and methods. It makes him feel like there’s some control being given to him, so he takes it. “Fine. You can stay. _If_ you dance with me.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Really? I think it’s a great idea.”

“Your Highness—

“ _Harley_.”

“Harley,” Peter amends. It might be the alcohol, but his name sounds pretty nice coming from the other man’s lips and he has to focus a bit. “I am not going to stop you from having fun, but I still have to work. I’ll come stand by your friends, so it looks like I’m just hanging out, but I’m not going to dance or drink. This beer is for show because I have to do my job and stay focused. Please, Harley. Let me do my job.”

Wide brown eyes, slightly pouty lips, and a quick flutter of the eyelashes?

Harley’s hopeless.

**)-(**

Peter walks into Happy’s briefing room with a tablet in hand. He slides into the seat next to Steve, who’s already got his calendar up and ready. The blonde man smiles politely when he sees Peter. “Good morning.”

“Too early,” Peter mumbles.

“Don’t let Happy hear you say that,” Sam chuckles from across the table. He pushes the bagel tray towards Peter. “And you don’t know early until you’re engaged in active combat for days on end, buddy.”

“Sorry.” Peter takes the bagel. “Do you like working for the princesses?”

“Princess Abigail is a piece of cake,” Sam answers. “She likes libraries and museums, and is just stubborn enough that her friends can’t convince her to do anything crazy.”

“Morgan is a nightmare,” Steve admits with a grimace. “I spend all day making sure she stays put. She’s got twice as many guards as Harley and Abby combined because it’s the only way to keep track of her.”

“Speaking of the prince,” Sam says. “We heard you were able to blend in at the club he snuck into last night. Good for you, man.”

“Clint Barton was the one who referred me for this job,” Peter answers sheepishly. “He had me well-prepared.”

As Happy and the royal coordinators walk in, Peter’s mind drifts to the prince. It’s become pretty clear, once talking to Barton more, that Harley isn’t actually a brat. He’s been on lockdown in the palace for a few months, going stir crazy and not being able to breathe without being monitored. It makes sense that he’s itching for some sort of freedom, even if it complicates Peter’s job. He thinks they understand each other a little bit more, now that Harley’s realized Peter isn’t trying to hinder his life.

“Parker,” Happy says sharply. “The queen spoke with the prince. He was pleased with your ability to blend in and has decided that you should be a secret bodyguard.”

The idea sounds ridiculous. “Secret bodyguard?"

“Secret bodyguard.” Happy doesn’t look impressed that he's repeating himself. “Prince Harley says he will only be compliant if you masquerade as one of his friends. That way, the public don’t know you’re his bodyguard and social situations are more comfortable for him and his friends. Understood?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Absolutely not. You're doing it."

“You’ve been on the job for less than twenty-four hours and you’re already going undercover,” Sam scoffs. “Why do the young ones get all the fun?”

“You want to switch with Rogers?” Happy snaps.

“Yes!” Steve exclaims.

“No sir, I am thrilled to be taking care of Princess Abigail,” Sam rushes out. Steve huffs and leans back in his chair. “Please continue.”

“Alright." Happy sits down. “Get your calendars out, we have a busy month to go over.”

By eight am, Peter is walking into Harley’s suite to relieve the night shift. Andrews gives him a polite nod before heading out of the room with a, “I put on a pot of coffee for you both. He hates going to the doctor.”

“Thanks, Andrews.”

He pours two cups of coffee, making sure to dump plenty of sugar into Harley’s, and sets it on the coffee table. After knocking on the on the bedroom doors, he places himself on the couch and waits. It doesn’t take long for the doors to bust open and for the prince to plop next to Peter with a grunt of irritation.

“I’d rather die than go to the doctor’s,” Harley grumbles.

Peter grabs his coffee and hands it off. “You still have to go.”

“I’d rather stay in my lab.”

“You can hide in your lab for as long as you want after you go to the doctor. Final check-up, Princess, surely you can manage that.”

Harley scowls when Peter calls him “Princess.”

“You need to get dressed and shower,” he continues. “Your appointment is in an hour.”

“I’m the prince of the United States, and I can’t get an appointment in the afternoon?”

“They can’t rearrange everything for you.”

Harley makes a noise of discontent. “Fine. At least you aren’t walking around in a suit anymore. You look better in jeans, even if your t-shirt is dorky.”

“It’s not dorky.”

“It’s terrible.”

“And you’re mean.”

The ride to the doctor’s office shows Peter how nervous Harley actually is. His hands twitch against his knees, and he plays rock music too loudly. Peter doesn’t try to talk, but he reaches out to offer Harley a hand. The other boy stares at the proffered hand for a beat before linking their fingers together.

“I’m fine,” Harley whispers. “It’s just, the smells and walls and everything. Remind me of the stuff I remember from the surgery.”

One day, Peter is going to ask more about what happened. For now, he just sits in silence with Harley and offers companionship.

_“If you’re going to work for him, you need to have more to offer than protection,” Barton says. His voice is heavy. “Harley’s life isn’t easy, and it’s been extra hard since he was shot. He’s a good kid, and he just…needs a friend.”_

_“He doesn’t have friends?”_

_“He has friends, but its different. He needs to feel safe with you, and he won’t feel safe if some stiff in a suit is breathing down his neck every second of the day. Prince Harley is more than a job.”_

_“And you think I should apply for the position?” Peter asks slowly. “That I would be good at it?”_

_“I think you’ll be great, kid,” Barton answers. “You’re a good friend to everyone who knows you, and you have the skill set to properly protect. Harley will need someone like you, especially since we haven’t found his attacker. Let him live his life, but protect him above that. Royal bodyguards don’t just protect the physical body of the Starks. You protect the whole person.”_

 

 


	2. so i can justify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I demand answers.”
> 
> “You can’t demand anything from me.”
> 
> “You work for me.”
> 
> “Correction: I work for Happy. He works for your father.”
> 
> “Peter!” Harley rolls back towards him to whine. “Why are you being difficult?”
> 
> “Because I don’t bend to your every whim like everyone else here?”
> 
> Peter realizes that Harley’s face is inches from his own. The other boy isn’t wearing sunglasses, so Peter can see blue eyes dip down to glance at his lips. Peter doesn’t acknowledge how that makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. Instead, he lays back to look up at the sky.
> 
> “Tomorrow, maybe I’ll tell you more.”  
> ***  
> Or, getting to know Peter is not as easy as Harley would like, but it sure can be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I did NOT expect the response I got on the first chapter, which was supposed to be more of a setup than anything. I am touched that you guys are looking forward to the story and hope to not disappoint. I've adjusted pretty well to my medication, so my writing is coming pretty quickly. Thank you for the support! I love every single one of you <3

_“Harley!” Pepper’s screams are broken, while Tony looks over at his son in horror. “Harley, no!”_

_“D-D-Da…” Harley can’t speak. Why can’t he speak?_

_“Don’t try to talk, kid,” Clint says. He rips his shirt and presses it against Harley, who registers the searing pain in his neck, the red on Clint’s hands. “It’ll be okay, I got you.”_

_His vision blurs._

_“No, Harley, stay with me. Abby and Morgan are here, don’t let them—"_

_“Harley!”_

He jerks awake.

“Breathe with me, Harley, it’s okay.” Peter is in front of him, eyes wide and worried. “I don’t know where you went, but you’re back here with me.”

Harley breathes shakily, following the way one of Peter’s hands moves in an ‘in and out’ motion. The bodyguard gives a tentative smile. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Harley says quietly. “What, um, what are you doing in here?”

“You’ve got the visit to the orphanages today,” Peter tells him. “You were up late last night, but you’re going to be late if you sleep much longer.”

“You’re worse than Sheila.”

“Sheila makes the schedule. I just execute it.”

Harley rolls over and buries his face into the pillow. He hears Peter chuckle, but there’s the sound of him picking something up. The smell of coffee wafts over and Harley finds himself peeking over the edge of his pillow. “Extra sugar?”

“Just how you like it,” Peter chuckles, raising the mug closer. “And the brew is that Colombian stuff Ginger brought back from her cruise.”

Harley throws himself back in a dramatic huff, knowing Peter’s won. “Bastard.”

Peter has acclimated easily into the role of friend and bodyguard. Harley isn’t sure why he decided on that stipulation (“Undercover, or not at all, Mom.”) but he knows that Peter is nice to have around. The guard is a calming presence. He learns quickly and doesn’t put up with any of Harley’s crap. Harley can admit that it’s kind of appealing.

He’s almost finished with his coffee when there’s the pitter-patter of bare feet on the hardwood of Harley’s floor. He has just enough time to set his mug aside when Morgan runs in and dives into the bedspread. Abby strolls in not far behind, smiling. “She’s excited for the orphanage.”

“I haven’t seen my friends in _forever_ ,” Morgan exclaims.

“You saw them last week,” Harley reminds her.

“You’re just overdramatic,” Abby adds.

Morgan turns toward Harley’s bodyguard. “Petey! Make them be nice to me!”

“I have no authority over your brother and sister,” Peter tells her from where he stands at attention. “But I do have the ability to rescue you from torture. Need a ride?”

Morgan, although most ten-year-olds believe themselves too old for piggy backs, launches herself onto Peter’s offered back and wraps around him like a monkey. “My knight in shining armor!”

“My princess,” Peter says gallantly, before motioning out the door. “I must leave you with my fellow comrades-in-arms because there are grumpy dragons to be slain.”

Harley watches Steve take Morgan from Peter. The little princess still leans over to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “You’re my favorite, Petey.”

“And you’re mine, sweetie.” Peter kisses her hair and steps back. He turns to Harley and Abby. “Get dressed, please. We leave in twenty minutes.”

Just another morning in the palace.

**)-(**

When Abby was seven and Harley was twelve, their mother died in a car wreck. Their father was long gone, and they had no family. Their social worker took a particular interest in them and searched for any possible blood relatives. After coming up with nothing, they were taken to one of the many orphanages that the king and queen had recently opened. It was an old building that was refurnished and touched up in structure, but it became home. They were together.

Once a week, the king and queen would visit the orphanage in New York. Harley and Abby would sit in the library while they read, played with them in the game hall, and watched across the cafeteria as they ate. They were a beautiful couple, recently married and trying to save the world with their money and influence. It was because of them that Abby and Harley hadn’t been separated.

One day, Harley was taking apart a laptop when King Anthony Stark himself strode into the computer lab and sat down next to him. He looked upset, close to panicking, and Harley figured he needed a distraction.

“Show me how to build this,” he said, hoping he didn’t seem shy. “I took it apart, but I don’t know how to put it back together.”

It was a flimsy lie, but Tony stopped his ragged breathing and slowly began to instruct Harley on how to put the laptop back together. By the end of the day, Tony was calm.

“I’m coming back for you, kid,” Tony whispered. He ruffled Harley’s hair. “See you next week.”

Now, over ten years later, Harley feels a rush of joy stepping back through the doors of the orphanage. The kids he’s most used to run up to him, some clinging to his legs and jumping on his back. Even though Tony and Pepper are _home_ , Abby and Morgan are _home_ , he still has the kinship with these walls and people.

He glances over at Abby, who smiles with teary eyes, same as every week.

He knows she understands.

Lunch is the first thing they get ready for. At the orphanage, everyone is expected to pitch in. Harley peels potatoes with some of the older kids, talking about everything from video games to schooling. They all talk over each other. Each are eager for their moment in the spotlight, pulling for Harley’s attention. It’s pretty draining, but by the time they’re roasting marshmallows around a campfire that evening, the kids are happy, tired, and loved.

On the ride back, Harley takes Abby’s hand and squeezes tightly. They don’t need to say anything, but the moment they have on the ride back is always the same. Holding hands, reminiscing about their fortune, and pleased that the kids at the orphanage know they’re cared for.

_“Don’t talk, Harls.”_

_He can’t move, can’t talk, and can hardly breathe. Abby is sitting next to him, though, tears in her eyes. “Whoever did it isn’t very good at their job. Happy and Steve think they were definitely aiming for the guards close to you. That’s why Clint was shot.”_

**_Clint was shot? That doesn’t make sense. He helped me, he—_ **

_“I can tell you looked confused, but he was shot in the stomach. Your injury was more life threatening, so he focused on helping you until the ambulance showed up. But yeah, Clint was shot. And Olivia, she…she didn’t make it to the hospital.”_

_Olivia has been Abby’s guard for the last ten years._

_“Once you were vulnerable, the shooter aimed at you. Steve says after that there was too much chaos. You were…it looked like you were dead, Harls.”_

_“I-I’m sorry,” he rasps, though it feels like his neck is tearing open again to do so. “I’m really sorry.”_

_Abby just…cries._

“I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

Peter looks up from the book he’s pretending to read. In actuality, he’s focusing on the people around him. The beach is busy and it’s a strain on Peter’s ability to not give himself away as a bodyguard.

“Do you need to know anything about me?” Peter asks. He’s glad for the cover his sunglasses provide because it would be very embarrassing to be caught admiring the natural way Harley’s body shapes to the sand. Nobody around him can even compare. It’s more distracting than anything or anyone else.

“It’s necessary for every undercover operation,” Thomas cheeks. “You have to put a little bit of the truth in with the lie. We’re all supposed to be friends, right?”

“You don’t feel like we’re friends?”

“Not really,” Ginger shrugs. She reminds Peter of MJ, so much that he feels of pang of how much he misses his old friend. “Like Harley said, we don’t know anything about you. You don’t talk enough, even if you do everything with us.”

Peter shifts. “I was born and raised in Queens.”

The other three stare at him expectantly.

He turns back to the book.

“We know you aren’t reading.” Harley rolls off his towel and reaches over to jerk the book from Peter. He completely disregards Peter’s protest and tosses it over his shoulder.

“I think a bit of my soul just died, you can’t _treat books_ like that—

“So he’s a nerd,” Thomas grins. “A bookworm. Excellent. Next!”

“Fine,” Peter huffs. “I was born and raised in Queens. There’s this sandwich shop, right around the corner from my aunt’s apartment, where my friends and I used to get sandwiches. Mr. Delmar owned it and used to roll his eyes every time I asked for it smushed down, but he always did it anyways.”

“You like sandwiches smushed?” Thomas gapes.

“Really flat,” Peter answers honestly.

“Insane,” Harley says. “Next.”

“Seriously?”

“ _Next_.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“Comes with the titles, land, and inheritance. I demand answers.”

“You can’t demand anything from me.”

“You work for me.”

“Correction: I work for _Happy._ He works for your father.”

“ _Pe_ ter!” Harley rolls back towards him to whine. “Why are you being difficult?”

“Because I don’t bend to your every whim like everyone else here?”

Peter realizes that Harley’s face is inches from his own. The other boy isn’t wearing sunglasses, so Peter can see blue eyes dip down to glance at his lips. Peter doesn’t acknowledge how that makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. Instead, he lays back to look up at the sky.

“Tomorrow, maybe I’ll tell you more.”

Harley flops back down on his towel, muttering about “No fun” and “perfectly wasted sexual tension.”

**)-(**

Harley looks over from where he’s getting his hair trimmed. “Favorite color?”

“Red.” Peter answers. “Blue, for a while. Then red again.”

“There’s a story there, right?”

“Not one I’m telling you.”

**)-(**

Ginger sits next to Peter at the bar. “Favorite place you’ve traveled?”

“Venice. My friends and I went to the _Carnevale_ the year we graduated. It was the best week of my life.”

“Why?” Thomas asks.

Peter watches Harley dance across the room. The sway of his hips is hypnotic, so Peter forces himself to look away. He sets his gaze on the twins. “My uncle died when I was a freshman in high school. It took me a long time to move on, and I never really felt free again. That festival, lost in the lights and the life of the city, was the first time I could melt into the world and really breathe again.”

None of they say anything for a long time after that.

**)-(**

“You’re drunk,” Peter says, almost bored with the action as he carries Harley to bed. “I’m never letting you near tequila again.”

“I’m not drunk, I just wanted you to carry me.”

“Your wish has been granted, Princess.”

Harley sighs and tucks his face into Peter’s neck. “What cologne do you wear?”

“I don’t. You’re smelling the lavender from my laundry detergent.”

“Smells nice.”

“My aunt used it.”

“You’re sentimental, Parker.”

“Something else you’ve learned.”

“Because we’re gonna be best friends, and I’m gonna know everything about you.”

**)-(**

Harley doesn’t know why he wants Peter to be his friend so badly. He knows he flipped his opinion the first night Peter started the job, from go away to you’re pretty okay to stay here and be my friend. There’s just something about the bodyguard that draws him in.

“People like you, don’t they, Peter?” Harley asks three weeks into Peter starting the job.

The brunette shrugs. “I’m nice to people, people are mostly nice to me. Treat others how you want to be treated, right?”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.”

**)-(**

The rhythm they’ve settled into is comfortable.

Peter ensures that Harley is where he needs to be for important events and monitors him when he wants to have fun. Harley teases him, needles information from him and learns bit by bit about Peter Parker. It’s a fun back and forth that allows Harley to actually see things about Peter.

He takes his job seriously, but he takes everything seriously. Harley recognizes that small things are big deals to Peter, which is one of the reasons he can be so sentimental. He’s probably someone who keeps birthday cards years after he receives them.

(It’s kind of cute.)

There’s also signs that Peter is incredibly intelligent. Besides the fact that he is observant and has an excellent memory, he’s eager to learn. Harley has found him browsing the bookshelves in the library and reading textbooks about physics and chemistry at college level. In the lab, he watches Harley work with obvious interest. There’s a certain understanding in Peter’s eyes when Harley offers explanations that points to him really knowing what’s happening and continuing to learn.

Peter is a constant presence, a comfort during the day and in public. Harley appreciates the knowledge that someone is always watching his back without hovering too intensely or making the people around him uncomfortable. There isn’t any of the trapped feeling he experienced while he was recovering; no loneliness, no days spent in bed feeling like a waste, and no fear that his life was completely stopped. Peter lets him live and breathe as he wants for the most part.

Because of this, he begrudgingly admits to his parents that they _might_ have been right in hiring the man.

“I have a nose for things,” Pepper says with a kiss to his forehead. “And even if you didn’t like it, the thought that Peter is there helps me sleep at night.”

“Which means I sleep at night,” Tony reminds Harley. “Honestly, the way she kicks when she’s up worried about you—

Pepper smacks him, and Tony just smirks. “We’re both happy you’ve accepted a bodyguard. I definitely thought you’d hit teenage rebellion ten years late just to make a point.”

“Ginger thought the same thing, and I’m seriously offended.”

“Ginger’s a smart girl.”

Harley rolls his eyes and stands to leave his parents’ sitting room. “Can I take the girls to Disneyland tomorrow?”

“As long as you take an absurd number of pictures,” Pepper says. “And have them home at a reasonable time.”

“Define reasonable.”

“It’s a weekend, but Morgan still needs to be in bed by ten.”

“How about on the jet by ten?”

“Sold!” Tony smacks his hand on the couch. “To the prince with the amazing hair!”

**)-(**

“I _do_ have amazing hair,” Harley grins. “Don’t you think so, Peter?”

“It’s very fluffy,” Peter responds dutifully.

Morgan points to the man acting as Prince Charming for the parade. “Like him, Harls! Like a real prince.”

“I am a real prince,” Harley reminds her.

“No, like a fairytale prince,” Abby pitches in.

“I’m a prince!” Harley repeats, indignant. He narrows his eyes as the parade marches on. “I could be a fairytale one. A _Disney_ one.”

There’s a glint in Harley’s eye as he follows the way the fake prince raises his arms and twirls Cinderella. “Hold on, now, Harley— _no, where are you going?_ ”

“To find a cast member and become a Disney prince.”

“You can’t just walk into Disneyland and become a cast member.”

“I’m Tony Stark’s kid. Watch me.”

**)-(**

“Entertain me.”

“You’re an actual prince in a world of remarkable modern technology. You don’t need me to entertain you.”

“Peeeeteeeeeerrrr.”

“I’m on duty inside the palace, and not obligated to entertain you for the sake of my cover.”

“But I’m bored.”

“God, you’re a piece of work.”

“You love your job.”

“Hate it.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

**)-(**

Some people question the royal family’s decision to live in New York. It isn’t central to the rest of the country, and it’s not close to congress. Tony Stark, however, refuses to leave the city area permanently. He loves the isolation of the palace in the upstate, while still being in sight of the Manhattan skyline.

Peter admires the city being so lit up while he sits on the roof. Andrews has taken over the night shift, so he’s able to take a break and let his mind take a break from being constantly on alert. It’s mentally exhausting to actively focus on everything around him while pretending to look relaxed. It’s almost harder than simply standing guard like he did for the senator’s daughters. He wants to relax around Harley, wants to settle into the role as friend. He’s honestly worried about making a mistake if he loses focus.

His phone rings, pulling him from his thoughts. Without looking, he answers. “Parker.”

“Peter,” Sheila says pleasantly. “Harley’s been asked to make an appearance at a science fair in Tennessee tomorrow. I just found the letter asking about it.”

“He has Habitat for Humanity tomorrow,” Peter answers with a frown. “That’s in West Virginia, and he isn’t supposed to be done until five.”

“That’s when the fair starts.”

“He can’t do both.”

“This is one of the schools with the scholarship Harley created, though, he needs to be there.”

“And homeless people in his country needs homes, which he’s going to be part of building.”

“They’re both important to him.”

“It doesn’t look good for him to cut out of Habitat early,” Peter huffs. “If I can get him on the plane by five-thirty, I can have him in West Virginia by seven.”

“I will call the school in the morning and make sure that works, then let you know.”

“Thanks Sheila.”

“Thank you, Peter. Have a good night.”

Peter hangs up the phone and texts Harley.

_Peter: How do you feel about a science fair tomorrow?_

_Harley: OBVIOUSLY I want to go_   
_Harley: Do you think we’ll see a baking soda volcano? Absolute classic_

Chuckling, Peter puts the phone away and lays back on the roof. The stars are clear here, more clear than he’s ever seen. Living in Queens and D.C. mostly meant that light pollution prevented a view of the Milky Way. Now, Peter can find his favorite constellations. His finger reaches up to trace the outline of a few, finding Draco and smiling. He can almost hear Uncle Ben’s voice telling him the legends.

_“Draco is associated with a lot of myths,” Ben says, motioning up. “But he normally pops up in the one about the 12 Labors of Heracles, since he’s so close to Hercules in the sky. Some people depict them in paintings with Hercules stepping on his head.”_

_“Why did Hercules kill him?” Peter questions. “Was he a bad dragon?”_

_“Not exactly,” Ben says. “The Draco constellation represents Ladon, the dragon that guarded the golden apples in the gardens of the Hesperides. The golden apple tree was a wedding present to Hera when she married Zeus. She planted the tree in her garden on Mount Atlas and tasked Atlas’ daughters, the Hesperides, with guarding it. She also placed the dragon Ladon around the tree so that the Hesperides would not pick any apples from it. As part of his 12 labors, Hercules was asked to steal some golden apples from the tree. He killed Ladon with his poisoned arrows and took the apples.”_

_“The dragon didn’t do anything wrong,” Peter shakes his head. “Hercules shouldn’t have stolen the apples.”_

_“You’re right,” Ben agrees. He turns to Peter. “Hercules is known for his strength and bravery, but he was also selfish. People paint dragons as bad in myths, but in this case, Ladon was doing nothing wrong. He protected a tree that represented something important to Hera and Zeus. He died because he stood in the way of someone and their goal.”_

_“Hercules sounds more like the villain in this story. Ladon didn’t deserve to die.”_

_“I’m glad you think so, Peter. You know, Hera also thought it was a shame that her dragon died. Saddened, she placed its image in the sky among the constellations. Now he’s remembered all over the world because Hera loved him so much. I like to think we never really die when people love us. Love, no matter what kind, gives us a certain immortality. Don’t you think?”_

_“Like how we’ll remember my parents because there are pictures and stories?”_

_“Exactly like that, Peter.”_

A buzz brings Peter out of his memory. He looks down at his phone.

_Andrews: Potato Lord is headed your way._

Peter snorts. He’s almost scared to ask about Harley’s codename, as the rest of the palace staff seem to find the bizarre thing perfectly normal. From what Peter can see of the royal family (particularly the king) it makes sense that what most people consider weird is actually the usual in the palace.

He can hear the crunch of rooftop gravel before he can see Harley. “Hey, Princess.”

“Sup,” Harley says, plopping down next to him. “Stargazing?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “It’s something I used to do with my uncle when we went camping.”

“And you've carried on the tradition?” Harley asks.

“I didn't at first. It made me miss him too much.” Peter shifts as another memory filters through his mind. “About six months after the funeral, I was still really struggling with feeling like Ben was just _gone._ There were pictures and everything, but it wasn’t the same. It felt empty. Then one day, I came home from a decathlon school trip, and Aunt May had painted the ceilings of the apartment. It’s a small space, only two tiny bedrooms and the main area, but every inch was painted to look like the sky directly above us. She even used glow-in-the-dark paint for the stars, so we were able to shut off all of the lights and lay back like we were stargazing. It was the first time I really felt like just because Ben was gone, didn’t have to mean that everything about him just disappeared.”

Harley turns to his side so he can look at Peter. “Is that why you hold on to things?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Peter admits. He turns on his side as well. “Anyways, what brings you up here? You looked pretty content to be bingeing _How I Met Your Mother_ with Abby when I left.”

“She fell asleep three episodes in,” Harley shrugs. “And she does not mess around when it comes to watching shows together. I can’t continue without her or she’ll never speak to me again.”

Peter chuckles. “You’re a good brother for going with it. I feel like most people would just say ‘screw it’ and go on with the show.”

“Its not like its hard work to be a little considerate of what my dramatic little sister wants.”

Instead of commenting on the weight of such a simple statement, Peter just raises his eyebrows.

Harley wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“You’re calling Abby dramatic?”

“I mean…”

“She’s the chilliest out of all of you.”

“I’m not as bad as Morgan.”

Peter remembers that morning at breakfast, when Morgan almost cried because they were out of honey nut cheerios and she was going to _die_ if she didn’t have any.

She’s a peculiar child.

“Fair enough.”

“Thank you,” Harley says in triumph. He looks back up at the sky, and Peter indulges in the moment of how Harley’s eyes turn silver under the moon. He almost wishes he had his camera to capture the little things that stand out; the pink curve of his lips, the shell of his ear and the shadows it creates in the low light, or the sharp glint to a wolfish grin. Peter normally thinks of Harley as sunshine and warmth because he most often glows during the day. This is an entirely different kind of look, and it throws Peter off.

Harley is, for lack of a better word, beautiful.

Peter pulls his gaze away and looks back up. “My uncle used to use constellations to teach me lessons. They weren’t always the lessons that the legends intended, but they were things he thought it was important to know.”

“Such as?” Harley asks softly.

“Well,” Peter points up. “The story of the Draco constellation.”

By the time Peter’s done relaying the memory, his eyes sting a bit. Harley reaches over and links their fingers together. He silently offers support, leaning close on the cold roof and holding tightly. It’s reassuring, warm, comforting. For one night, Peter closes his eyes and falls into the illusion that Harley and Peter actually are friends.

It’s a nice illusion. 


	3. breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive editing mistakes; i am very sick, and very medicated, but i cannot stop writing  
> I LOVE YOU ALL <3

_“Hey, kid.”_

_“You got hurt because of me.”_

_“Not a big deal. You know I’ve been wanting to retire anyways.”_

_Harley rolls away from Clint, ignoring how the movement pulls at the still-healing wound. “Abby said they shot you and Olivia to clear out space to get me. That’s fucked up.”_

_“I’m harder to put down, Harls,” Clint says. His voice is softer than it usually is as he eases onto the bed. His back goes against the headboard. “Come on, kid. I’ve got a few hours to binge Game of Thrones and pretend you aren’t miserable.”_

_And so Harley lays next to Clint and relishes in the fact that he’s still alive, safe, and going back home to his family._

 

The next morning, Peter gets a call that pulls him away from Habitat. It’s a shame, really, since Ginger and Thomas have started a nail-shooting contest and currently have nail guns pointed at leftover floorboards, pinned against tree trunks. He’s never been simultaneously so scared and so entertained.

“Hello?” he answers, eyes on Harley across the construction site. “Sheila?”

“There’s something odd with that science fair,” she says immediately. “I just got off the phone with the principal, and he says nobody reached out about the science fair. They would be touched for us to attend, of course, but I’m wary. The letter I have looks very official.”

Peter hummed in thought. “Can’t be too careful with Harley’s last attacker still being out there. Can you call Happy and let him know I’m sending Andrews and Turner a few hours ahead to speak to the staff and look into everyone who will be in attendance tonight?”

“I will. Thank you, Peter. I don’t want to induce any panic, but—

“It’s important Harley is safe.”

“It’s important _the Prince_ is safe.”

“Right.” Peter clears his throat, embarrassed. “Of course. I’ll do my best to prepare for whatever we walk into. Thank you, Sheila.”

He hangs up and looks over at Harley. _This is gonna be a fight._

**)-(**

“We agreed that you would protect me, but not hinder my schedule or my life.”

“This isn’t a good idea, Your Highness,” Peter says. There’s a weird stiffness to him that’s so different from the night before and it frustrates Harley. “Andrews has been looking into the staff at the school, even some of the older students, and nobody can figure out where the letter came from.”

“But they know I’m prepared to come now, I can’t back out.” Harley stands firm, arm crossed. “I’m going, Peter.”

“You need to consider that you can’t—

“I don’t _need to consider_ anything!” he cuts his bodyguard off. “I made a commitment, and I’m sticking to it.”

Peter looks furious. “Do you have any idea of self-preservation?”

“I keep you around!”

“You do not keep me around, I _choose_ to be here and protect you.”

“I could fire you.”

“It isn’t that easy, Princess.”

Harley steps forward into his Peter’s face, skin itching with irritation. “Do _not_ call me that like you’re mocking me.”

“Stop threatening to fire me every time you don’t get your way,” Peter shoots back. He doesn’t step away, but he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Harley, I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“Why?” Harley asks. “It’s not like you actually care about me. You said so yourself, you choose to protect me.”

“Why do you act like its so shitty for me to do my job?”

“Because I am not a job, darlin’, I’m a person.”

Peter does step away now. Harley watches him pace a few steps back and forth before deciding this conversation isn’t going anywhere. If his old accent is slipping through, he’s getting too worked up. “I’m leaving. Patrick can drive me and the twins back to the palace while you wrap things up here.”

“Okay.” Peter stops pacing to place his hands on his hips. Harley wishes it weren’t such an endearing pose. “Thank you for going back to the palace.”

Harley leaves without speaking anymore.

He collects the twins and climbs into the car. Once they’re moving, he drops the screen to the front of the car so he can see Patrick. “Pat, my favorite bodyguard!”

“Not to be disrespectful Your Highness, but we all know Parker is your favorite.”

“Brains and brawn both, you’re a machine, Pat.” Harley tries his best charming grin. Patrick only rolls his eyes in response. “When we leave the property, I want to head to the airport.”

Patrick furrows his brow. “But I thought Parker said we weren’t going to Tennessee?”

“ _He_ isn’t,” Harley corrects. “He’s got to stay behind and prep for the Christmas Eve parade. It’s a big deal, and you know Peter. Very particular.”

Patrick seems to buy it, as he nods and flicks so the turn signal indicates a right. Harley pulls the screen up. Immediately, Ginger and Thomas are glaring at him. “What?”

“Seriously, Stark?” Thomas snaps. “You and Peter have an argument, so you punish him by fucking off to a place you might get hurt?”

“Whoa, now,” Harley frowns. “You guys are supposed to be on my side.”

“Why is there a side?” Ginger asks. “This could be dangerous. Peter has let us do plenty of stupid things, so if he thinks this isn’t a good idea, then its probably not a good idea. He’s smart, you know that.”

What Harley doesn’t say is that he wants to stomp and cry and act like a child. He wants Peter to look at him with concern when he says West Virginia is too dangerous because he is a person, not an object to be kept safe.

“You don’t have to go,” Harley stands his ground. “I talked to Sheila this morning, though. The kids already think I’m coming. So, I’m going to go and fulfill a promise I made.”

Ginger leans heavily back into the leather with a scoff. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Awesome,” Harley grins. He looks to her brother. “Thomas?”

Thomas frowns. “I like Peter.”

“So do I,” Harley defends. “But he doesn’t get it. He’s trying to do his job, and I’m trying to do mine.”

Thomas purses his lips, but doesn’t argue.

When they pull up the airport, the three climb out of the car quickly. Harley eagerly helps Patrick get their pre-packed suitcases loaded onto the plane while Ginger and Thomas go on aboard. It only takes a few minutes to make sure everything is secure before he’s climbing on board himself.

Unfortunately, a certain bodyguard is sitting and waiting.

“Hey, Princess.” Peter crosses his arms. “Wanna talk?”

_“Harley, you should come to breakfast.”_

_“I’m tired.”_

_Morgan tugs on his hand, doing her best to bat her eyelashes and smile. “Come on, Harley, please?”_

_“I don’t think so, Morgie.” He slides his hand away. “Not today.”_

Surprisingly, they don’t argue.

Peter silently walks into the private room of the jet, Harley following behind him. The door shuts and there’s a moment where they just look at each other. Harley can’t even begin to guess what the best way might be to approach this, so he dives headfirst in.

“I’m going to do these things, Peter. It’s not because I’m a brat who wants my way, or because I want to purposefully make you angry. It’s because being a prince is my job, and I’m good at it. I love it. Maybe in another life I would be a simple kid, climbing up the engineering ladder. Maybe I’d own a garage and fix up cars for a living, who knows. The point is, _this_ is my life. I’m Tony Stark’s son. I’m the heir to the throne of the United States of America, and I have responsibilities. I know that seeing people like me at science fairs and orphanages is important because that’s where Tony found me. It means something and I won’t shirk those responsibilities because someone in the world hates me. The past few months, I…well, let’s just say they sucked, and I didn’t do my job. I am going to do it now.

“ _Your_ job is to protect me. So do that, wherever I am, to the best of your ability. But I will not stop living my life or start ducking behind corners because you’ve got to play watch dog.”

“I do take my job seriously,” Peter replies. “But I am _not a watch dog_. I don’t think you’re an object, or just a symbol. I know you’re a person because I make your coffee every morning, I see the way you care for others, and like laughing with you. I like that you’re determined to be my friend. It’s just…I really don’t want you to get hurt. Because I do care about you, as a person and as a friend. But if I let my guard down and really let us be friends out in the world, I could lose focus, and someone could get hurt.”

“But nobody is going to get hurt,” Harley shrugs. “I know it.”

“How?”

“I know things. I’m practically a genius, haven’t you heard?”

Peter snorts and sits on the bed. “You know, Clint warned me that this was more than just a job. That _you_ were more than just a job.”

Harley feels a pang of affection for his retired bodyguard.

“You said, a couple days ago, that everybody likes me. You don’t realize what you have, though. You’re impossible not to care about for some reason.”

“I force people to like me, it’s a talent.”

“It’s also apparently impossible to compliment you.”

“Now that’s not true; I _love_ hearing how pretty I am.”

“Well, you’re gorgeous.” Peter looks mortified the moment he says it, mouth dropping open. “I mean—

“I knew I would win you over,” Harley teases. He sits next to Peter on the bed. “I’m sorry for trying to ditch you again.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Sorry for yelling at you because you didn’t listen.”

“Yeah, about that—you normally call me ‘Princess’ in a teasing or friendly way. It felt…wrong when you said it so angrily.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. He offers Harley his hand with a sheepish smile. “Are we okay?”

Harley takes his hand. “Yeah, we’re okay."

_“The children are asking for you,” Abby says sharply. She’s standing with her arms crossed and jaw set. “You could call them, you know.”_

_“But I can’t go anywhere, so it doesn’t make a difference.”_

_“Whatever. Sulk in your rooms for all I care.”_

The science fair is in full swing by the time Harley leads his friends into the gym. The teenagers have little shame about running up to Harley and immediately asking him to see their projects. It’s not a surprise when the one that wins him over is a baking soda volcano.

“The basics of science can sometimes be the best,” Harley tells the young girl. “The things you can create in a lab are great and all, but who doesn’t love a good science experiment that you can do in your own kitchen? It makes all the unknown of science seem less scary because we have the simplest of things at our fingertips.”

Another student raises their hand eagerly. “What was your favorite experiment that you did in your own kitchen, Your Highness?”

“That’ll be the watermelon we blew up with electricity in the seventh grade,” Thomas cuts in. “My mom is the palace chef, so I knew where all the watermelons were. We decided to blow them up in the greenhouses—

“ _Ginger_ decided to blow them up in the greenhouses,” Harley interrupts. “And we had to spend the next three days scraping watermelon from the crevices with toothbrushes.”

“Was it worth it, Prince Harley?”

“Absolutely,” Ginger answers for him. She looks around the room as if she’s expecting to find some great secret. “Does anyone happen to have an exploding watermelon? I’d die to get my hands on one.”

Nobody has an exploding watermelon, but two students have a shocking mechanism using batteries and Ginger deems that just as exciting. Peter watches the entire exchange with a few laughs. Harley really is good at making people feel like they’re all on the same level. He sits so that he’s eye level with all the kids and focuses on each that speaks with the appropriate amount of intensity. Even if it’s simply diplomatic training, it’s a good trait to have. The kids are all beaming with joy by the time the judging comes around.

Peter begins to understand that maybe Harley wants people to care about him so personally because he cares about others without it feeling like a chore (or a job).

As the evening carries on, Peter notices Harley’s cheeks getting a nice flush to them. It’s not something Peter thinks he should be noticing, but its hard to ignore how the pink blossoms under the prince’s freckles or how his gelled back hair curls at the base of his neck as sweat gathers. He’s reminded way too often that Harley is so attractive.

“Peter,” the prince says, blinking slowly. They’re standing off to the side of the judges’ table and waiting on the results. “Are you warm?”

“No,” he answers truthfully. “There’s a lot of people, though, you might just be a little crowded. Do you want to step outside?”

“No, I need to announce the winner,” Harley protests. He swallows, a seemingly difficult task. “I’ll just drink some more water.”

“You’ve had, like, six glasses already,” Peter frowns. He tugs at the scarf around Harley’s neck, finding the flush there as well. “Harley, do you feel lightheaded or anything?”

“A bit, but it’s mostly ’cause I can’t get any cold air.” Harley swallows again. “OR, any air at all…”

The prince sways.

Peter grabs his arms and drops his voice low. “Patrick, I need an ambulance on the way right now.”

“Yes sir,” the voice in his earpiece says sharply. There’s noise on the other end as Peter motions for Ginger and Thomas to come closer.

“What’s wrong?” Ginger frowns, touching Harley’s cheek. He barely reacts. “He looks like he ate a blueberry.”

“You’ve seen his reaction to blueberries?” Peter asks sharply. Ginger nods. “And this is it?”

“Yes,” Thomas says. He taps on the judges’ table. “Excuse me, Principal Higgins, but what exactly is in those water coolers?”

Principal Higgins frowns. “I’m not sure, I didn’t make them. Does anyone know?”

Peter doesn’t wait for an answer; he picks up Harley’s cups and takes a sip. It’s definitely fruit-infused water.

“I’m going to get Harley outside,” Peter says lowly. “Thomas and Ginger, make sure nobody feels like something is wrong. Just tell them Harley’s stomach got a little upset and we had to step out. You guys present the awards. I’m going to have the other make sure nobody gets in or out, and we’re gonna call the police.”

“Pete, come on,” Harley rasps, even as he leans into Peter’s support. “It was accident.”

“Someone is trying to hurt you, Harley,” he reminds the prince. “We’re not taking any chances. Turner, did you hear what I said just now?”

“Yes sir, already working on it.”

“Good. Pat?”

“Ambulance is two minutes out.”

“Okay. Bring me Harley’s epi-pen. It’s in the glove box of the car.”

As they step into the cold air and Harley struggles to breathe, Peter feels a little panic begin to creep up his spine. He feels like an idiot for not checking with the school about Harley’s allergies; blueberries aren’t normally something he worries about. Harley doesn’t get a reaction just from breathing them in, and they’re pretty easy to spot in the usual desserts. The thought that they might be in the water cooler never crossed his mind until now.

Turner arrives outside the gym with the EpiPen. Peter unlocks the pen and presses it roughly into Harley’s thigh. After a few seconds, he pulls it out. “Pat?”

“One minute out, sir.”

Harley takes in a little more air, so Peter unbuttons the first few clasps of his shirt. “Breathe for me, Princess, come on. The ambulance is almost here.”

Harley squeezes Peter’s wrist, but can’t seem to say anymore.

“I think you just managed to upstage Morgan’s dramatics,” Peter tells him, brushing hair from his face. “This night was supposed to be about the children, remember?”

Harley apparently has enough strength in his limbs to flip Peter off.

The ambulance arrives soon after. Peter rides to the hospital with Harley while keeping in contact with Turner and Patrick. They’re going to get security footage and interview staff before alarming people. After being sure that’s underway, he gives Happy a call and lets him know about the situation so the king and queen can hop on a jet to Tennessee.

They arrive in Harley’s private room a couple hours later. The prince is still sleeping, Peter sitting by his side. He stands at their arrival, bowing his head. “I am so sorry, Your Majesties.”

“Peter, really, it’s okay,” Pepper touches his shoulder gently before moving towards her son. "You noticed the signs and you handled it well.”

“I didn’t do my duty—

Tony cuts him off. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. We now know that water at all events has to be monitored.”

Peter still feels guilty.

“Listen to me, kid. You did good. Now, take a deep breath and tell us what you found.”

As Pepper sits on the bed to hold Harley’s hand, Peter stays standing and begins talking. “The staff said that the water coolers were set up by a woman with long blonde hair and brown eyes. Turner and Patrick looked through the footage to find her, but she avoided the cameras in the school as if she knew where they were all placed. Nobody else knows who she is.”

“So, it was intentional.” Pepper says it in understanding, a fact instead of a question.

“Combined with the fact that the events bringing the prince to the school were shady, I would say so.” Peter looks between them both. “An attack meant to look like an accident.”

This makes Tony drop into Peter’s previously vacated chair. “Why is someone after Harley?”

“I don’t know, sire,” Peter admits. “There are many reasons for someone to be targeted when they’re in a position of power. It could be politically aimed at you or aimed at a stance the prince is outspoken about. It could be something stupid like how open he is with his sexuality, or it could be some weird obsession. There’s a long list of possibilities.”

“Harley’s been back out in the public for less than a month and he’s already under attack,” Pepper says. “How are we supposed to keep him safe?”

“I believe it might be best for him to go under the radar for a while.”

“He’ll never agree to that,” Tony scoffs.

Despite agreeing, Peter stands his ground. “Someone is actively trying to kill your son, Mr. Stark. I can talk to him so he understands, but I don’t think he has much of a choice right now. Two failed attempts can make an attacker frustrated and more ambitious. Now that we have a partial description of the woman, Happy and the FBI can work together to find her. It’s a big step, but not enough. Your son is in danger.”

“And where can we send him that’s safe?” Tony presses. “We can’t lock him inside the palace again, he’ll lose his mind.”

“I agree,” Peter concedes. “So he needs to go somewhere unexpected, where he can retain some freedom but still be safe.”

“Somewhere he’ll blend in,” Pepper murmurs.

Peter considers his childhood, growing up in a mass of people and enjoying the anonymity. “What about Queens?”

The king and queen share a disbelieving look. The former folds his hands from where he sits. “Pete, that seems a little…exposed.”

“New York is huge. And with an attack on the prince, who’s going to expect him to be in the city? He can stay with me and my friends. We’ll lie low the first few days, then figure out how to safely have Harley out and about.”

“It’ll look weird if you suddenly go home at the same time Harley disappears from the public eye. You're always seen together.”

“I thought maybe Ginger and Thomas could lay low for a while as well. Make it seem like we’re all on some retreat or something together.”

“We’ll spread rumors around the palace,” Pepper says. “Have Harley and you go home and pack, the same for Ginger and Thomas. We’ll actually send them somewhere, using Harley’s decoy to go with them, as well as Andrews in a hat. He and Peter have the same sort of look.”

“In the meantime, Turner can have a car packed and waiting for Harley and I. We’ll sneak out and make sure nobody sees us, even the palace staff.”

Tony shakes his head. “This is almost too much. I still don’t know if he’ll agree.”

Peter purses his lips. He has to agree. He just…he has to.

_Pepper kneels by the bed. “Harley, you need to get up.”_

_He doesn’t answer._

_“Sweetie, please get out of bed.”_

_Still no answer, despite his mother’s tears._

_“We’re here when you’re ready, honey.”_

When Harley wakes up, it’s to Peter Parker’s tired smile.

“Hey,” the bodyguard says. His voice is soft, a little rough, and definitely fond. “Let me call the nurse, and I’ll get you some water.”

Harley watches as the other man pokes his head out the door before coming back to pour a glass of water. When he drinks it, the relief on his throat is instant and sends him sighing back into his pillows. “Hey, Pete.”

“Morning, Princess,” he answers. “How do you feel?”

“Tired, mostly.” Harley pushes into a sitting up position. “How long was I sleeping?”

“Just through the night,” Peter assures him. “Your parents are talking to the staff. They ordered breakfast for the whole hospital.”

“Sounds about right.”

Peter squeezes Harley’s hand. There are bags under his eyes, but the relief is clear in how his shoulders slump forward slightly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Harls.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes the hand back. Footsteps approach outside the door, and Harley barely blinks before Peter is a respectful distance away. The ‘professional boundaries’ is stupidly irritating.

The next hour is a flurry of checking up on Harley, assuring Pepper and Tony that he’s perfectly safe, and playing cards with Peter to pass the time as he waits to be discharged. Harley notices a certain hesitancy to his parents questions about plans for how to deal with what happened. It obviously makes him suspicious. He doesn’t want to pick another fight with Peter, but feels like it has to do with security. So, when they’re alone again, he questions him.

“What’s the plan, Pete?”

Peter draws a card, brow furrowed in concentration. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid,” he reminds his friend. “My two degrees can attest to that. What’s the plan for my protection? I assume you don’t want to allow much room for a third chance?”

“No, we don’t,” Peter admits. “We all agreed that you need to lay low for awhile. We have a description of the woman who put the blueberries in the water, and she’s unknown by school staff and sketchy as hell. This happened on purpose, and we want to use it to our advantage.”

“I cannot stay cooped up in that palace again.” Harley’s skin itches just thinking about it. “I _will_ not.”

“You won’t have to,” Peter assures him. Now, he looks a little nervous. “I, um, I thought maybe you could come home with me for a bit. Everyone is going to think we’re going to some retreat with Ginger and Thomas as a vacation get away. But, you’ll really be blending in to Queens. I’m working on a disguise so that you can go out and about after the first few days.”

Harley stops in his motion of laying a card down (he’s about to declare Rummy) to look at Peter. “You’re seriously going to let me wonder around Queens without a fight?”

“I mean, I’ll obviously be with you,” Peter shrugs. “But yeah. As long as we’re disguised, you don’t need to lock yourself in the palace. Plus, we can get to know each other a little better. Now that we’re actually friends.”

Harley’s chest tightens. He tosses his cards aside to launch to the other end of the hospital bed. His arms lock around Peter’s neck. It takes a moment, but Peter hugs him back, surprisingly strong arms sliding over his waist. “The first month I was locked in the palace, I was terrified all the time. I stayed away from windows, I didn’t want to hang out with anyone so they wouldn’t get hurt because of me, stuff like that. I became a recluse, even though I hated it. It just seemed better. After that, it was hard to get out of my isolated headspace. Ginger and Thomas basically forced me into being a person again.”

“That sounds like a shitty place to be.”

“It was. I don’t wanna be there again.”

One of Peter’s hands slides up to cup the back of Harley’s neck. “I won’t let you, Harley. I promise.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” Harley whispers, blinking tears away. “You don’t understand what this means.”

And so, off to Queens they go.


	4. push and pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a face. “Why do you call me that? I don’t here you say it to anyone else.”
> 
> “I don’t know.” Harley sets his mug aside and leans forward so he’s on the cushion next to Peter. “Why do you call me, ‘princess?’”
> 
> Peter licks his lips, head tucking down. “Um, well you know. I call Morgan that.”
> 
> “Once. You literally called her that once.”
> 
> “So maybe I like calling you princess. It’s not a big deal.”
> 
> “You like it because you like me.”  
> ***  
> Or, Queens isn't a bad place to fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still very sick, still very medicated, still loving peter parker and harley keener. i love you all, and thank you for the support <3

Since working for Senator Ross and moving to the palace, Peter hasn’t spent a lot of time in Queens. He’s actually looking forward to going back to his old room in the apartment with Michelle, Betty, and Ned. It’ll be odd to be sharing the room with an actual prince, but he knows that he and Harley have settled into a comfortable groove around each other.

When they walk into the apartment, Betty is cooking in the kitchen. They nearly drop the pan when they see Peter, smiling wide. “Pete! Oh my god, you’re home!”

“I am,” Peter grins back, opening his arms so Betty can hop right into them. “I’m sorry I didn’t give a warning. Can we have a family meeting?”

“Of course,” Betty says. “Go settle in your room and we’ll all—

They cut off as Harley takes off his large sunglasses. Realization dawns, and a squeak leave Betty’s mouth. “Your Highness.”

“Hello.” Harley holds out a hand. “You must be Betty?”

“Ned! MJ! Family meeting, _right now!_ ”

Ned is, of course, alternatively speechless and unable to stop talking. MJ doesn’t seem too impressed with her Saturday evening being disrupted but is her own version of pleasant and welcoming. Regardless of the excitement, it only takes an hour for things to calm down. Betty goes back to preparing dinner, Ned returns to a work car, and MJ heads to the gym. Harley and Peter are able to shut the door and settle in.

“You okay?” Peter asks as Harley lounges on the bed. “I know that Ned can be a lot, and MJ is a little…brash.”

“Nothing to say about Betty?”

“Oh no, Betty’s perfect.”

“Fair enough,” Harley chuckles. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little tired from last night, I think.”

“Well, you can crash whenever you feel like it,” he says. Kicking his shoes off in the closet, Peter thinks about sleeping arrangements and feels a blush creep up his neck. “Um, are you okay with sharing the bed? It’s a queen, so it’s already smaller than you’re comfortable with. If you’re not okay sharing, I can run to the store for an air mattress.”

“I’m not going to displace you, Peter,” Harley says like it’s the obvious choice. “I’m okay to share. Do you think you can hold yourself back from ravishing me?”

“I’m not sure I can,” Peter sighs, faking a dramatic sigh as he lays back next to Harley. “What _ever_ will I do, night by night?”

“Perish from unrequited love?”

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can do.”

“Don’t be too discouraged, it happens to plenty.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m _gorgeous_. Haven’t you heard?”

Peter covers his face with his hands. “God, I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

“Come on, you know I love it,” Harley teases. “If it helps, you’re, like, hot as fuck.”

Peter can feel his face screw up.

“What, nobody has said anything to you?” Harley asks. When Peter shrugs, the prince props himself up on his elbow. “You’ve dated before, right?”

“I always worked too much,” Peter admits. “In high school, I really only had two serious relationships. Since then, I haven’t really had the time.”

“And those relationships, they didn’t tell you how hot you are?” Harley presses.

Peter can feel the color creeping back. “I mean, I knew they were subjectively attracted to me—”

“Peter, darlin,” Harley says seriously. ‘You are, _objectively_ , hot. You’ve got the Bambi eyes, the 'fuck me' lips, the strong shoulders and cut jaw—the body that’s described in homoerotic poetry from the eighteen-hundreds.”

“Jesus, Harls,” Peter coughs.

Harley cringes. “Shit, did I make you uncomfortable? I know straight guys don’t always like attention from gay guys.”

“No, that’s not—I’m bi. Attention in general is just weird. I guess I’ve just gotten used to blending into the background, so people focusing on my looks is unusual.”

It’s then clear, how close Harley is. He’s smiling a little bit, gaze too fond for Peter’s liking. This conversation has gotten a little out of control, and he needs to pull back. It’s nearly impossible though, because he’s just realized Harley has _freckles_ across his nose and under his eyes.

“Yo!” MJ pounds on the door. “Dinner is ready! Hope His Highness likes rice and beans. That’s all our broke asses can afford!”

Peter clears his throat and sits up, sliding from the bed and thanking MJ’s timing.

_Get a hold of yourself, Peter._

**)-(**

Harley looks in the mirror, scratching at the beard on his chin. It’s only taken a few days for a patchy sort of thing to grown in. Peter thinks that by wearing his glasses instead of contacts and covering his easy-to-recognize-hair with a beanie, he’ll be good to go out. He feels a little grungy, but accepts that this is Peter’s way of helping him out.

So, he throws on his favorite sweater and finds his boots. Once he feels satisfied, he leaves Peter’s bedroom. The four occupants of the apartment are waiting, so he holds out his arms. “Well? Can you recognize me?”

“I wouldn’t even guess if I didn’t already know,” MJ says, looking vaguely impressed. “You’d fit in better in Brooklyn or Manhattan, but we have our fair share of hipsters, so you should be fine.”

“You look like any normal young adult,” Betty approves.

“Peter?” Harley asks his bodyguard. “Am I allowed to leave looking like this?”

Peter’s eyes are slightly widened. “Um, yeah. You look good. To-to leave, I mean, good to go out in public and...stuff.”

Harley tries not to show his confusion as they all grab their coats to head out. Peter is always solid, consistent in how he talks to a treats Harley. He doesn’t normally stumble over his words, so the interaction leaves him confused. He wonders if it has anything to do with their small moment in Peter’s room the night before. At the time, Harley was sure Peter was really taking in their physical closeness and even possibly leaning in more. The conversation ventured into a weird territory, but Harley was completely sincere—Peter is all sorts of attractive. If the bodyguard weren’t employed by his family, he would have already tried to get Peter to go out with him.

He considers Peter’s commitment to his job; sleeping with the client is definitely not something he would ever consider.

Harley dismisses it from his mind.

“Where are we headed?” he asks as they make their way down the street.

"We're buying Christmas decorations," Betty responds. They practically vibrate with excitement. "It's tradition. We get a tree, some garland, lights, all of it. Then we go back and decorate with hot chocolate and my famous cookies."

"Betty is basically Santa clause," Ned informs Harley. "When we get married, it's going to be on Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve weddings are beautiful and magical," Betty speaks firmly, as if this has come up before.

"And who doesn't love snow in a wedding?" Peter says.

Betty gives him a high five. "Christmas solidarity."

"Well, I'm not very good with decorating," Harley shrugs. "But I love eating cookies and looking at pretty things. It's why I keep Peter around."

Peter rolls his eyes, MJ snorts, and Ned actually giggles. Betty links their arm through Harley's. "I think we're going to be good friends, Your Highness."

"It would be the deepest honor you could bestow upon me."

Harley is pleased to realize the afternoon flies into the evening with him barely keeping track of time. There's a flurry of tinsel and Christmas lights, cinnamon and sugar, and a lot of laughter. MJ puts on an Elvis Christmas record while they hang decorations. Harley buys peppermint vodka to spike the hot chocolate, with the result of rosy cheeks and impressive Elvis imitations.

Even though he misses his siblings and friends, there's something incredibly endearing about spending the evening in an apartment that looks like a department store threw up in it after hours of shopping. Harley is warm, content with excellent company, and unable to stop thinking about how grateful he is for Peter bringing him here.

"It's no problem," Peter says when Harley thanks him later. They're in Peter's room to get ready for bed. "There's no reason for you to be locked in the palace when this is an alternative."

Harley can feel himself genuinely smile. "I like this. As much fun as it is to bicker with you, having a conversation that isn't emotionally charged or triggered by me having a meltdown is...kind of nice."

"I like it too." Peter climbs under the blankets with a small smile. "Today has been nice. I like my job, but I miss MJ and Ned and Betty sometimes. I guess coming home ended up being good for me as much as it is safer for you."

"I can see why you love them so much," Harley says. He slides into the bed next to Peter, rolling on his side so they can talk easily. "How did you all meet?"

Four hours later, they fall asleep inches apart.

**)-(**

When Peter wakes up, he knows he's done it again.

Five mornings in the apartment, and every one of them has started with Peter waking up with his face pressed into Harley’s neck and their arms wrapped around each other. He _doesn’t_ know how it always happens, but it hasn’t failed to so far. He _does_ know that he’s sleeping solidly through the night. In the first moments of him blinking into awareness, Peter feels warm and content. He nuzzles closer to the body holding him and revels in the embrace. In the moments after, Peter smells the familiar shampoo. He stiffens and realizes all sorts of his body parts are pressed against Harley, pulling away as smoothly as he can without disturbing the prince.

It’s almost the exact same process every time.

What’s different about this morning is that when he nuzzles closer, he thinks he feels a hand run up and down his back purposefully, as if to stroke in affection. The feeling makes Peter want to press in closer, so he does. His nose skims along the neck of the person holding him, drawing a hum of contentment. Peter feels the vibration and tightens his hand on the hip of his companion. He’s sleepy, but his mind is fuzzy with how relaxed he feels, like he could sink back into the bed and sleep for a couple more hours.

“So, you’re a snuggler.”

Peter freezes. The voice, though speaking soft and sweet, is recognizable instantly. He pulls back, blinking a few times so his vision clears to focus on Harley.

The prince.

His friend, and also _job_.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers. “I-Instinct I guess?”

“It’s okay,” Harley says, voice just as low and husky. “I love a good snuggle. You know I’m physically affectionate.”

“Yeah.” Peter clears his throat and pulls his hips back before letting the rest of his body follow. “My aunt always said I was like a koala when I was little.”

“Morgan and Abby are hardcore koalas, so I’m familiar with the type.”

“You know, last week I carried Morgan from the wine cellar to her room. She fell asleep on the way, and Steve had to pry her off of me.”

“That sounds…exactly right, yeah.” Harley rubs at his eyes as he laughs. He rolls closer, following in the space that Peter had created so his forehead rests on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s only been a few days, but I miss them already. I'm used to seeing the girls every day.”

Peter can’t help it. He raises his hand to smooth back Harley’s hair. “I know.”

“Are we closer to catching the person who’s trying to kill me?”

“No.” Something tugs in Peter’s chest that he really doesn’t want to examine at the mention of someone hurting Harley. “We had to hand it over to the FBI, but Happy said he would keep me posted if anything changes. When I know, I will make sure you know.”

“Okay,” Harley whispers.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What do you want to do today?” he asks softly. He realizes his hand is still on Harley’s neck, and he doesn’t move it. “I think we’ve toured every museum in Queens. Since, you know, you’re a nerd.”

“You like it just as much as I do.”

“A little.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re a secret genius.”

“Oh, is it a secret?”

Harley drops his head to the mattress and starts giggling. When he rolls and looks up, Peter catches those blue eyes and those _freckles_ , and has to swallow as his heart tries to jump up his throat.

“I want to stay in today,” Harley says, voice soft. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Peter manages to say. “Whatever you want.”

His answering smile is breathtaking.

**)-(**

Harley is killing Ned in Mario Kart when the doorbell rings. He barely registers Peter walking up to the door, too busy on how Ned crashes for the last time and cries out as Harley crosses the finish line.

“Noooooo,” Ned moans. “My record is beaten. How is that possible?”

“I’m just that good.” Harley winks. He lets his gaze travel over to Peter, who’s looking out the front window with his hand on the gun tucked into his pants. Harley can feel his heart stutter in his chest, like it’s been doing lately every time he looks at Peter. “Who is it, darlin’?”

“Your surprise,” Peter says. “It took a little bit of planning, but Steve and Sam and I worked it out.”

“Steve and Sam….?” Harley trails off as his bodyguard opens the door to reveal Morgan and Abby with snow in their hair. “Wha—

“Harley!” Morgan runs forward and wraps her arms around Harley’s waist. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Monkey,” Harley says. Abby comes forward and hugs them both, so the three of them are holding tightly to each other. He looks over both of their heads to see Peter smiling. “Happy agreed to this?”

“Between secret tunnels and back alleys with hats, yes. The girls blended into Queens pretty well. Steve and Sam are out back.”

“Can we go to a movie theater?” Morgan asks. “We never actually get to go to a movie theater because of all the people with cameras! But Steve said we could be super disguised today.”

“Of course, we can do whatever you want.”

Abby perks up. “Can we go to the Louis Armstrong museum?”

“And the MoMa that’s here?”

“And that place with Peter’s smushed sandwiches?”

“Absolutely,” Harley says. “Just let me go get my shoes and my hat, you two make a list, and we’ll go out. Sound good?”

The girls agree, so Harley heads to Peter’s bedroom. The other man walks in while Harley is lacing up his boots, smiling and looking expectant. “So? Good surprise?”

“The best,” Harley answers. “I…Peter, thank you.”

“You said you missed them,” Peter shrugs. “I wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

Harley doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Peter, trying to process this man who continually surprises him. “Did you do this as my friend or as my bodyguard?”

“I’m going with you to the movies as your bodyguard,” Peter answers. He speaks slowly, purposefully, and his cheeks are the smallest bit pink. “But, I called Happy about the girls as your friend. I want you to be happy, even if I’m keeping you away from the palace for your safety. This can’t happen very often, but one day shouldn’t be too big of a risk.”

“Well…thank you, Peter.” Harley says. “I mean it.”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” Peter replies. “I mean it.”

_Oh_ , Harley realizes, looking into Peter’s warm eyes and feeling his heart stutter again. _I’m fucked._

**)-(**

Harley is prepping dinner for everyone while Peter obediently scoops the inside out of sweet potatoes. They’re listening to some Christmas jazz album while Harley details his plans for planet-wide clean up. He’s passionate about his intentions, so sure that this is the whole reason he was supposed to meet Tony.

“I have the resources as a prince to pick projects that are important to me,” Harley says while he chops onions furiously fast. “So, why not use them?”

“And these scientists you’re wanting to back?” Peter asks. “They really think they can get the world cleaned up in the next ten to twenty years?”

“Definitely. And I’m going to pay for it.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just—” Peter looks away. “That’s good, Harley. I’m, um, I’m excited to see the things you’re going to do to change the world.”

Harley looks too fond. “I can’t wait for you to be there with me.”

**)-(**

“Hey, Harley! Did you pay our rent for the rest of our contract?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Wanna go Christmas shopping?”

“Harley.”

“MJ.”

“Did you pay?”

“...Don’t tell Peter.”

**)-(**

“He did what?”

“You’re definitely not supposed to know, but I thought it was important for you to be aware that this dude you're in love with is actually pretty fucking awesome.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

"I'm actually the least ridiculous of us all."

**)-(**

Peter wakes up on Christmas Eve with Harley curled around him.

_This has to stop_ , he thinks miserably. The prince burrows closer, lips skimming Peter’s bare shoulder before soft, even breaths give away steady sleep. _I have to stop getting closer, I work for his family—_

Harley’s arms tighten around him, and he sinks further into the mattress.

A couple hours later, he actually wakes up. Sliding from the bed, Peter walks to the kitchen to find Betty and MJ already drinking coffee. He wordlessly gets two mugs, prepares Harley’s and turns to head back to the bedroom. He’s stopped, however, by the stares of his friends.

“What?” he mumbles.

“Your relationship is none of my business,” Betty says, almost hesitantly. “But Harley is a man full of intense feelings. If you aren’t willing to compromise your job, you need to shut down whatever is going on between you before it hurts you both.”

Peter resolutely ignores them and returns to his bedroom.

Harley rolls over when he enters, smiling so tenderly that Peter almost trips over himself. “G-Good morning, Princess.”

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Harley yawns. “That for me?”

“As always.”

“Hmm, you take good care of me.”

“I try,” Peter chuckles and passes the coffee to Harley. The prince takes it, bringing it to his nose with a dramatic sniff. “So, what do you want to do for Christmas Eve?”

“I haven’t thought about it. What do you normally do?”

“Dinner and _The Nutcracker_ with Aunt May, then _Die Hard_ and spiked hot chocolate with Ned over text. Aunt May sleeps over, but she goes to sleep early on Christmas Eve as a tradition that kinda carried from childhood.”

“And the others?”

“Ned and Betty are going to his parents for Christmas. MJ will be with her brother and his kids.”

“Is Turner going to stay here with me while you go to _Th_ _e Nutcracker_?”

Peter shakes his head. “I made sure to get a secluded, private box. You can come with and not have to wear a hat and everything. At least, I don’t think.”

“Why are you so great, Peter Parker?” Harley asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter mumbles. “Anyways, you’ll get to meet May. I think you’ll like her.”

“She raised someone like you, so she’s obviously a remarkable woman.”

Peter honestly doesn’t stand a chance.

**)-(**

May Parker is extraordinary.

Harley is actually enchanted by the woman. She curses like a sailor, has amazing stories from college, and randomly bursts into Italian when she gets excited. Even though she and Peter aren’t related by blood, its clear who he resembles in manner. Peter laughs like May, cares about people like May, and listens like May. They share the same warmth in their smiles, and Harley is just as captivated by her as he is by Peter.

Harley also loves that around her, Peter relaxes. He’s giggly, more physically affectionate with Harley, and makes solid eye contact. Its impossible not to be drawn in by how soft the bodyguard is.

Especially when the only light comes from the Christmas tree.

May has gone to bed, the credits to _Die Hard_ have rolled, and Harley is pleasantly warmed by the spiked cocoa. Across the couch, Peter is snuggled under a blanket and listening to Harley talk at full attention. He completely loses focus on what he’s saying because Peter just looks so…warm and inviting.

“Harley?” Peter says softly. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?”

“You just stopped talking.”

“I, um…” Harley huffs out a little laugh, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, darlin’.”

Peter makes a face. “Why do you call me that? I don’t here you say it to anyone else.”

“I don’t know.” Harley sets his mug aside and leans forward so he’s on the cushion next to Peter. “Why do you call me, ‘princess?’”

Peter licks his lips, head tucking down. “Um, well you know. I call Morgan that.”

“Once. You literally called her that once.”

“So maybe I like calling you princess. It’s not a big deal.”

“You like it because you like me.”

Peter looks at him through his eyelashes. It shouldn’t work, but it does, and Harley’s mouth goes a little dry. “Don’t give me that face, Princess.”

_Shit._

“That’s not fair,” Harley whispers.

“We should go to bed,” Peter replies. He drops his eyes down. “I mean, we should both go to sleep. Maybe I’ll…stay out here.”

“You can do whatever you want…” Harley leans closer, hands moving to Peter’s solid shoulders. “But I don’t want you to sleep out here.”

Harley waits, nervous that he’s reading everything wrong. What if he’s seriously messed up, what if things are going to be awful, what if—

Peter grabs Harley’s waist and brings him closer. “Well, the prince gets what he wants, doesn’t he?”

Harley answers with a laugh.

 


	5. such a beautiful creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harley, I can’t watch you die.”
> 
> “So don’t let me die.”
> 
> “I can’t ensure that!”
> 
> “Yes, you can, I know you can.”
> 
> “Not if I’m constantly distracted by you, which I will be the closer we get.”
> 
> Harley shakes his head. “More shit. You can do both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll are killing me with love. i adore you readers.  
> again; medicated and sick, but refusing to stop writing. bear with <3

_The kiss is fire._

_Harley is set ablaze the moment his lips touch his bodyguard's. Tasting vodka and chocolate, he licks into Peter's mouth filthily. The response is a deep moan. Peter stands, still holding Harley so that the prince’s legs wrap around his waist. He carries them to the bedroom, using one arm to shut the door while the other keeps Harley steady. It’s hot, there’s no denying it, and Harley clutches at his t-shirt. “Off, right now.”_

_“Yes, Your Highness,” Peter murmurs. He drops Harley onto the bed before stepping back and stripping off his shirt. The sight of the muscles that line the man’s body make Harley's mouth water. “What?”_

_“Take the rest of your clothes off,” Harley breathes. He stays propped up on his elbows to watch. “Slowly. I want a **show**.”_

When Peter wakes up, his muscles ache. It’s the first thing he registers, stretching them out to relieve the tense feeling.

The next moment, he realizes that he’s got Harley curled around him. He freezes.

_Oh god_ , Peter thinks. _Oh god, we had sex, I had sex with Harley—_

And it was _good_. Peter can close his eyes and feel like he’s falling apart under Harley’s attentions all over again, can practically still feel him. He shivers at the memory. Was Harley drunk? Is he going to regret it?

Movement behind him says he’ll find out pretty soon. Peter turns his face towards the pillow, ready for whatever is going to happen. He can feel Harley’s arm slide over his waist, up his naked torso, and…a smile presses into his shoulder. “Mornin, darlin’.”

“Hey,” Peter whispers. He’s got to shut this down. It crosses professional boundaries, it… _feels so good_ when Harley nibbles at his neck and presses his hips into Peter’s ass. “Fuck.”

Harley chuckles. “Merry Christmas.”

Peter hums his reply, turning to meet Harley in a kiss. Morning breath be damned, Harley pulls Peter on top of him in a straddle, hands traveling to all sorts of places that make Peter tremble. “H-Harls, your Christmas present—

“Is right here.”

“No, they can’t find us, baby, Happy will _kill_ me.”

“What do you mean? Who…wait.” Harley sits up. Peter is still on top of him, so they’re lips are now only inches apart. “Did you bring my family here for Christmas?”

“I groveled with Happy, they’re all coming in separately, and if he gets here and we’re—oomf!”

Peter’s cut off by Harley kissing him. He groans at the feeling it shoots down his spine. “You can’t keep kissing me or we’re gonna get out of bed.”

“Stop doing nice things for me, and I’ll stop kissing you.”

“But I like doing nice things for you.”

“Peter fucking Parker,” Harley sighs, hand sliding up the thread through Peter’s hair. “How long do we have?”

_“Hey,” Harley whispers. His hands are tracing circles across Peter’s back. “Can I ask something potentially disruptive to your emotional state?”_

_“Um,” Peter considers. “I guess?”_

_“Awhile ago, you said that your favorite color was red, then blue, then red again. What happened in between the two red phases?”_

_Peter freezes for a moment. In that moment, he sees the red on the street, seeping through Ben’s shirt. “My uncle, I told you he was a cop? Well, we were out one night—arguing because of something stupid, I honestly don’t even remember what exactly—and there was a robbery in a grocery store. My uncle tried to stop the guy, but…and then the blood…”_

_Harley presses a kiss to Peter’s temple. “I understand, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”_

_“Its okay,” Peter asks softly. He knows there are tears leaking onto Harley’s chest beneath his head, but the prince says nothing. “C-Can I ask about the shooting?”_

_There’s a long moment where Peter thinks he pushed too far. Harley’s heartrate increases noticeably, his breath coming out in short puffs for a moment or two. Peter pushes onto his hands and presses kisses along Harley’s scar._

_“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—_

_“No, I just—” Harley winds his arms around Peter’s waist. “I don’t remember much. We were at a conference, about to talk about the orphanages and our goals to turn older houses in the poorer districts into functional homes. Dad was introducing me, and then all of a sudden there was a noise. I blinked, and I was on the ground. I couldn’t feel the pain at first, but when I did…goddamn, it hurt so bad. And I went in and out at the hospital a couple times, I remember them working on me. Someone thought I was going to die. Mom and Dad cried, Morgan…God, she fucking screamed.”_

_Peter stays close, stroking Harley’s cheek._

_“Abby was there when I really woke up, and she told me that her guard had died to get to me. Clint was alive, but he was hurt so badly he was going to have to retire. The guilt, and the fear ate at me. Every time I closed my eyes, I was either back in surgery or thinking about Olivia’s funeral. For awhile, it seemed better to just…hide.”_

_“I’m sorry that we’re hiding now,” Peter murmurs. He kisses Harley’s neck. “I’ll protect you, baby, I swear to God.”_

_“I know, Peter. I know.”_

Peter stands by the Christmas tree with Steve and Happy. Sam, Natasha, and Bucky are all in the kitchen with May and Tony’s best friend Rhodey. The royal family is seated happily around the tree, bickering with each other over who opens what first. Peter can’t help but watch Harley smile and tug at his sweater sleeves. The other boys looks giggly and innocent, despite the many things Peter now knows he can do with a smile on his face.

“I need to tell you something,” Happy says lowly, into his cup of coffee. “Don’t react, okay?”

“What’s up?” Peter asks. He doesn’t stop his smile, though he can feel himself tensing.

“The FBI have the woman who tried to kill Harley in custody.”

Peter’s heart thuds against his rib cage. “Oh?”

“Bucky and Natasha found her,” Steve says. “They revisited some colleagues from their…old job…and found her. She’s an assassin.”

“Shit,” Peter mutters. He looks down to conceal his face. “She won’t talk, will she?”

“Bucky won’t do anything illegal to get it out of her,” Happy answers.

“And you won’t ask him to.” Steve’s eyes are narrowed at the mention of his husband. “You know he’s put that in his past.”

“I know,” Happy hisses. “I just…don’t know what to do. We’ve got the FBI, CIA, and JARVIS working overtime to figure out who paid her, but there’s nothing. We think the meet up happened in person, as well as the exchange of cash.”

“So the weapon was caught, but the person behind the attack was not,” Peter surmises.

“Pretty much.”

“What now?”

“We keep Harley here,” Happy shrugs. “He’s been safe so far, but now that we’ve got the assassin…”

“There’s no lead on who might be the next weapon of choice,” Steve finishes. “So you’ve got to be extra careful.”

“We can’t keep him on lockdown again,” Peter says. He thinks of the night before, of the hospital and everything he knows about Harley. “I can’t do that to him, you don’t understand.”

Happy sighs. He looks at Peter, flicks his gaze toward towards Harley, and sets his mouth in a thin line. “Jesus _fuck_ , Parker.”

“Everything okay, Hap?” Tony calls across the room.

“Yes, sire, everything is fine.” Happy nods.

“Why are you swearing at Peter?” Pepper asks with an eyebrow raised. “Happy, are you drinking too much?”

“Always,” Steve laughs, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “The kids a little nervous about everyone being together is all. Asking about security.”

“Oh, bad move, Petey,” Abby grins. “Happy does not like it when anybody says he isn’t doing his job.”

Happy sputters. “Because I always do my job!”

“Ignore Happy,” Tony waves his hand. “Come over here, kid.”

There is so much happening in Peter’s brain right now. He keeps thinking about the woman who almost killed Harley twice, the fact that she isn’t giving up information on who hired her and how Peter is supposed to be _on his game,_ how cute Harley looks in his Christmas sweater, and how Happy and Steve definitely know how Peter feels.

“Peter,” Harley calls, snapping him out of his panic. “Come on over. Morgan has something to give you.”

Peter obeys numbly, following his tether to Harley in hopes that he doesn’t look too entranced. He places himself against the couch so his knee touches Harley and the prince is smiling at him.

“So,” Morgan says, as if it’s the most serious thing in the world. She holds a black velvet box. “I am the best gift-giver in this family. That means you have to like what I give you.”

“Okay,” Peter chuckles. “I totally get it.”

“Good. Here.”

She places the box in Peter’s hands. He opens it, slow and methodical because Morgan is bouncing with anticipation. Nestled in a silk cushion are cufflinks. They’re silver, with a simple design sketched into them. When he leans closer, he sees that it’s a tiny formation of dots.

In the shape of the Draco constellation.

“Morgan,” he whispers. “How…”

“Okay, so its technically from Harley and me.” The ten year flip her hairs over her shoulder in a perfect imitation of her mother. “We were looking, and I found the cufflinks, but I wanted something special for these. Harley told me a story about the stars, and that you said it means you live forever because of love.”

“Love makes us eternal,” Peter croaks. His eyes are stinging, and his throat is impossibly tight. “Because of…because of pictures, and memories, and stories, we can live forever.”

“We want to live forever because you love us,” Morgan giggles. “You like it?”

Peter can’t find the words. He looks up at Harley, who’s blushing slightly but smiling because he knows it’s a good gift. There’s something that sinks into his chest in that moment, realizing how much Harley pays attention. He realizes how much Harley cares about people, how thoughtful he is. How achingly beautiful he is, in heart and mind and appearance. How much Peter wants to take him away from everything so nothing can touch him.

_Oh my god,_ he thinks brokenly. _I’m in love with him._

_And I can't be with him._

_Harley looks down at Peter, unsure of how this is happening._

_He thinks it might be sunrise, because there’s a very dull light outside, despite the snow clouds. The only light inside is from the Christmas lights strung around the room. In that light, Peter looks like something out of a fairytale. Chiseled features somehow soft to the touch, long eyelashes, that hair that curls when it gets a little damp…_

_“I can feel you watching me, Princess,” Peter murmurs. “Why are you watching me?”_

_“You’re pretty,” Harley answers. “Like something people draw. The perfect study.”_

_Peter hums. “How do you know what people draw?”_

_“Because I’ve done it.”_

_“What?” Peter sits up. “You draw?”_

_“I took some art classes during school. It can be very mathematical, but allows for plenty of freedom.” Harley pauses, looking around the room. “Actually, I’m going to draw you now.”_

_“Draw me?”_

_“I want to memorize every line on your body.”_

_Peter falls back. “Harley, you can’t say things that that.”_

_Harley laughs at the embarrassment on Peter’s face, rolling out of the bed and thinking of how he’s going to shade the flush creeping up his bodyguard’s chest._

After the cufflinks are presented to Peter, it’s automatically clear that something is wrong.

The bodyguard’s entire attitude changes. Where he’s been less restrained during their time in Queens, he’s now back to that cold familiarity from his first couple weeks on the job. He smiles, he talks to the royal family, he laughs sincerely with Abby and Morgan, but he’s otherwise stiff and locked up.

Hours later, when everyone else has gone home, Harley cups Peter’s face in his hands, pleading. “What happened?”

“Harls—

“No, what happened?” he insists. Peter’s got a weird hold on his hips, desperately pushing away and pulling close at the same time. “Please, honey, tell me what happened? Were the cufflinks too much?”

“No, they were perfect,” Peter whispers. “God, you’re perfect, Harley. I care about you so much.”

“So why are you about to tell me we can’t do this?” At the look on Peter’s face, he rolls his eyes. “Please, Peter. These stories are predictable, aren’t they? And we both know I’m not noble or selfless enough to stop this for whatever reason you have.”

“You’re full of shit,” Peter huffs. His forehead rests against Harley’s.

“Tell me what’s in your head,” he counters. “Please, give me a good reason.”

“The woman from the shooting and the school was hired to kill you. They’re no closer to finding out who is behind it than they were two months ago. And whoever it is, is likely to try something bolder, sooner. I need to be on guard at all times.”

“So do it by my side!” Harley jerks back. “And you say i’m full of shit, then turn around and go all noble hero ‘better for your safety’ junk? No.”

“Harley, I can’t watch you die.”

“So don’t _let_ me die.”

“I can’t ensure that!”

“Yes, you can, I know you can.”

“Not if I’m constantly distracted by you, which I will be the closer we get.”

Harley shakes his head. “More shit. You can do both.”

“I don’t think I can.” Peter wipes at his eyes. Harley’s heart breaks just a little bit at the sight. “Because you are something else, baby, you are so hard to not focus in on and it’s been a struggle the past few months. Whether we’re on a beach in Miami or a holed up in this apartment, you’re all I wanna focus on. That will get worse if this progresses, and that can't happen when someone is trying to kill you because I will not watch you die.”

“I don’t even—” Harley cuts himself off with a laugh. He knows why Peter can’t watch him die, knows about his uncle and the mess it made of him. Still, Harley wishes, just once, that they could both choose something. “Jesus, Peter. Is this what it would be like, being together? Constantly fighting over what’s going to happen, on who’s terms? And you always winning?”

“Harley…” Peter starts. He opens his mouth to speak again, eyes still wet, when the doorbell rings. “Just-Just give me a second?”

“Safety first,” Harley motions towards the door. “Go on.”

What he’s expecting is Christmas carols.

What he _isn’t_ expecting is Peter opening the door without checking, and the sound of his body hitting the ground.

_She’s standing in the doorway, waiting._

_Always waiting._

_Like every summer, she sits at the window of her mother’s house, watching and waiting for him to show up. It’s picturesque, how the grass sways in the wind and the smell of bread mixes with the flower boxes beneath the window. She imagines that its years in the past; there’s a baker and his wife in their lovely cottage in the forest, their beloved daughter running around barefoot in the garden. There’s a song in the air, laughter from the married couple, and dancing from the critters in the forest._

_**Like the princesses in the old Disney movies** , she thinks with a giggle. **I could be like Snow White or Aurora.**_

_She’s lost in this thought when her mother’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Are you daydreaming again, Princess?”_

_“Maybe,” she laughs. “But I know I’m not a princess.”_

_“Of course you are.” Elizabeth comes into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “But you should be a princess with shoes on.”_

_“Daddy says I don’t need to wear shoes if I don’t want to.”_

_Elizabeth goes to argue, but a smile breaks across her face as she looks over her shoulder. “Well, we all know that he’s always right.”_

_Turning, she sets eyes on a sleek black car pulling into the driveway. She runs out of the house in a fit of giggles, ready to launch into her father’s arms. She stops short, however, when Happy Hogan is the one who steps out of the car. “Mr. Happy?”_

_“Hey, sweetie,” he says. “Where’s your mom?”_

_“Happy?” Elizabeth says from behind her. “Where’s Tim?”_

_“I am so sorry.” Happy steps forward. “There was an accident, Lizzie, and Tim…he didn’t make it.”_

_“No.”_

_“He had to get the king to safety, you know it was his first priority.”_

_“His first priority should have been his family, not this damned job.”_

_“You knew what he did.”_

_“I didn’t like it! He stayed because Tony asked him to.”_

_“He didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.”_

_“Yeah? Well, something tells me he didn’t want to die.”_

_“Lizzie, I’m sorry—_

_Elizabeth turns and strides into the house as she sobs. Happy sighs, taking off his sunglasses and kneeling in front of the little girl. He holds out one of his large hands, covering her little one with it and squeezing. “You don’t have to worry, Sheila. We’re always going to take care of you.”_


	6. and in the end, we were all just humans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just need a little longer,” she swallows. “And then I can do it. I can kill you, I know I can. And after that, I can finally let go.”
> 
> “If you think that’s all its going to take, then you need a reality check. It never stops hurting that they’re gone. The people who took that happiness can pay, and it will never take that pain away or bring them back.”
> 
> Sheila wipes at her eyes. “Maybe not. But it sure can help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'alls comments are fuckin killing me. i love them, and i love that y'all love Peter. as always, thank you so much for the love and support! this story has been a fun ride, and i love that you've all been here with me.   
> <3 endless love and thanks

Peter tried to stop things with Harley so he could focus, so he didn’t get distracted.

Instead, he ended up _more_ distracted because of the fight.

So he didn’t check the goddamn door.

If he checked the door, he might have had pause, wondering what purpose Sheila could possibly have to show up without warning when she’s supposed to be with her aunt in Ireland? He might have called Happy to ask about it, made sure the door was locked and taken Peter out on the fire escape, since it _didn’t make any sense._

But no. Peter was distracted, so he didn’t check the door.

And now he’s lying on the ground, a tranquilizer in his neck, watching as Sheila points it at Harley.

He doesn’t have time to cry a warning before his eyes drop close and the world goes black.

_“What’s your name?” Harley asks the girl across from him. she’s got dark hair and angry eyes._

_“Sheila,” she says. “Who are you?”_

_“The prince! Who are you?”_

_“My dad died to save yours.”_

_“I’m sorry. Do you need a friend?”_

_“No. I need my dad.”_

_“Oh, well…I can sit with you anyways, if you want.”_

Harley can’t think, can’t breathe as Peter drops to the ground. He runs for him, but is stopped by a boot stepping through the door and bringing the body of the royal coordinator with it. He gapes as Sheila walks in, pointing a gun at Harley. Distress is written in her tense shoulders, nervous little breaths, and tearful eyes.

“You weren’t ever supposed to find out,” she whispers. “You were never supposed to feel pain, nobody else was ever supposed to get hurt.”

Harley can hardly comprehend. “Sheila…we’re friends. We’ve known each other since I came to the palace, you’ve been by my side the whole time.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But it was the only way to make them feel the same level of pain that I felt.”

“Who?”

“ _Your dad!_ ” she exclaims. “My father died to protect your dad, died because Hogan made a mistake. If you died, I would hurt them both. Your dad would know what it was like to lose the person he loves most, and Happy would fail at doing the one thing he’s made his life about; protecting the royal family.”

“And Clint? Olivia?” Harley’s throat tightens painfully.

Sheila’s lip trembles. When she blinks, tears fall. “I told the woman who I hired that she couldn’t hurt anyone else, but she said getting Clint and Olivia off of you was the only way. I wanted to fire her because she did everything wrong. She killed Liv, and she hurt you and Clint. You were in so much pain for so long, and you have to believe I never wanted that. I felt so terrible, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week.”

“And I couldn’t get out of bed for three months!” Harley snaps back. He steps forward, but Sheila raises the gun again. He realizes that it isn’t a normal gun. “What did you shoot Peter with?”

“Just a tranquilizer. I would never hurt him.”

“But you’ll hurt me?”

“It’ll be quick, I swear you won’t feel a thing. But I have to do it.”

“No, you don’t—

“No, _you_ don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sheila slams the door shut. “My mom died, not long after Daddy did, because she was so heartbroken. Did you know that could actually happen? Because it can, and it did. And I promised her that I would make them understand.”

“Understand what? That your dad did his job?” Harley shakes his head. “Nobody forced him to be in that position, Sheila. You know that. And even if you didn’t, you’ve had so many opportunities to do it over the years. Why have you waited so long?”

Sheila shakes her head. “At first, it was to have enough money to hire someone else. I wanted to watch Tony feel what I felt, watch Happy fail. But then that bimbo fucked up. I was going to fire her, but she apparently really needs the money. So I said I would give her another chance, but that if anyone besides you got hurt, she wouldn’t get paid. So, she targeted your allergies, but the blueberry in the water wasn’t strong enough, and Peter was there to save the day.”

He thinks about the school, about how Sheila said she got a letter. “You-You never got a letter, did you?”

“It seemed like a good way to distance myself from being suspect,” she scoffs, wiping at her cheek as more tears fall. “After all, who would guess that mousy little Sheila, who Happy took _such good care of,_ could _ever_ betray the royal family?”

Sheila clears her throat. “Now. I’m going to take Peter’s gun. We’re going to leave your cell phone here, you’re going to put on your shoes, and we’re going to tie our sweet little Peter up. Then, we’re going to leave. We’ll have to go somewhere far away, where I have time to get the courage up and take care of this myself.”

“Take care of what?” Harley asks, though he already knows the answer.

“You, Harley,” she says. “Obviously if I want to kill you, I’ll have to do it myself.”

_Peter looks down at the cell phone. “So, what exactly does the program do?”_

_“It tracks them,” Happy explains. “We use it covertly because if other countries got a hold of Tony’s tech, who knows what could happen. It’s only for emergencies, and only the heads of security know about it. That’s you, me, Bucky, Natasha, Sam, and Steve. Nobody else but the members of the family themselves know about this.”_

_“And how does it work?” Peter asks._

_Bucky steps forward. “Right here I have the ring given to Harley when the adoption was finalized. See the lines that just look like engravings?”_

_“Yes, the message from the queen.”_

_“Correct,” Steve says. “In those lines is something called nanotech. When you use the right code to activate, you’ll here a voice in your designated earpiece that will automatically calibrate it to the ring. You’ll hear it once, and then you’ll have a list of codes to memorize for different situations.”_

_“For example, if you need a tracker, you’ll say ‘P06 Activating HRHT03.’” Sam explains. “And then all you have to do is log in to your security page on your computer and you’ll have a GPS tracker, as long as Harley is wearing his ring.”_

_“Give it a shot,” Natasha suggests. She slides an earpiece across the table. “Slide it in and say what Happy has written at the top of the sheet.”_

_Peter does as instructed. He fits the little device in his ear, then clears his throat. “Activate piece P06 for protection of HRH03.”_

_“Hello, sir,” a voice says in his ear. “Monitoring vitals and location of His Royal Highness, Harley Keener Stark. Would you like to track him?”_

When Peter wakes up, he’s duct taped to the bathroom faucet. He’s slightly weak, groggy, piecing together a loose memory…

Sheila. Gun. Harley.

_Harley._

Peter jerks into awareness. His mouth is taped shut, his hands to the faucet, and his feet taped together. He’s almost disappointed in Sheila for her poor work, because she knows the physical tests he has to pass to get this job. The thought that maybe this is half-hearted fuels him to tighten his hands into fists and jerk down on the rickety metal.

It snaps out of the wall.

He has to move carefully so he doesn’t trip, but he manages to get out of the tub with only a few bumps on the tile. He rips the tape from his mouth before moving at a crawl towards his desk. He’s thankful for hardwood floors that his pajamas easily slide against, so it only takes moments until he’s pulling himself to his knees and pulling scissors from the drawer.

When his legs and wrists are free of tape, he scrambles around for a phone. He sees his on the ground, groaning that its smashed to pieces. His computer and Harley’s phone are found in similar states. He’s ready to panic before he remembers.

JARVIS.

He goes to his gear, thankful for the piece of technology that nobody outside of security knows about. It doesn’t take long for him to find it, settling it in. “P06 Activating HRHT03.”

His ear thrums for a moment.

“Hello, Mr. Parker. Activating tracker, ready for log in.”

“JARVIS, is there an override code that exists where I don’t need log in?”

“No sir, I’m afraid not. Mr. Hogan was very particular that the override not exist.”

“But accounts are hackable.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Parker, mine are not.”

Peter huffs. “Okay. So, if I can get a phone, I can call Ned and have him log in for me. Then he can let me know where Harley is so I can go get him.”

“Should you not alert Mr. Hogan?”

“I’ll have Ned do it, I don’t have time.” Peter runs around, grabbing his shoes before he leaves the apartment. He knocks on the neighbor’s door, pleased when Mrs. Kent opens it. “Oh, Peter, have you had a—

“I need your phone, Mrs. Kent, it’s an emergency!” he blurts out. She sputters a bit, but she digs around in her pockets and thrusts it over. “Thank you! The king and queen will be so grateful.”

He’s memorized Ned’s number, thankfully, so he grabs his keys from his pocket and dials quickly.

He’s got to get to Harley.

**)-(**

When they get to the car, Sheila knocks Harley out. He wakes up after dark in the car, being shaken awake with an actual gun pointed at him. she throws keys at him and makes him walk ahead of her to a front porch.

“Where are we?” Harley asks while he turns the key to the front door of a little yellow house.

“My old home,” Sheila says. “Where I lived with my mom before Dad died and we moved to the palace. I thought maybe it would help me remember why I need to do this.”

When they walk in, Harley can see the home has still been cared for. All surfaces look routinely cleaned. In the corner of the room is a tree, with a small collection of presents underneath it. Signs of Sheila are everywhere—a sweater on the hook, a crumpled up blanket on the couch, a half-empty mug by the sink. Harley realizes she must stay here on the weekends she isn’t at the palace. It’s strange to him, because he doesn't have a memory of being a prince that doesn't include Sheila. 

“We were supposed to be like family,” Harley whispers.

“No, I had a family! And your father and Happy took it from me!”

“We love you, the girls love you. Olivia loved you.”

"I told you Olivia wasn’t supposed to die!” Sheila waves the gun around in frustration. “And the girls, they’ll be okay.”

“I am Abby’s only blood relative.”

“But she has Pepper, she has Morgan and Tony. I had _nothing!_ Nothing but empty words. Because Happy was supposed to step in, right? Love me and raise me? Except Tony came first, always came first. So he missed recitals and meals, spent more time running after you all and managing you that they created a position for me to at least spend time with him. But by then, I knew where I stood with you, all of you.”

“What about Easter?” Harley suddenly remembers. “When you didn’t have any plans, so I took you to Rome? Since I knew your father was Catholic? We stood in church together, prayed and sang together. Then after mass, we went to that little café and stayed up all night. Just you and me. And every year, we go back.”

Sheila's head tilts, an almost pained expression coming across her face. “I know. And I love you for it. I never felt closer to my parents than when I stood in that church. But it doesn’t change that I had to feel connected to the heavens to even feel a glimpse of them.”

“They are everywhere, Sheila.” Harley points to pictures. “You can look at these and feel them in your memories.”

“I see a little girl who lost her family.”

“And what would they think of you now? Killing me to get back at my father?”

“I think they’d understand.”

Harley’s mind flicks through memories, trying to appeal to whatever he can. “So, great. You kill me. My dad feels the pain of losing a child. Happy fails at his job. What comes after that, Sheila?”

Her lip trembles. “Honestly, I don’t really care. I’ll go to prison and spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I’ve done, but it won’t matter. Because I will look Tony Stark in the face and watch as he realizes I am the one who killed you. I will watch as his world crashes down, listen to Pepper scream and cry like my mother did. And then I will try to survive with what I’ve done until I've paid my penance and can see my parents. I know they’re waiting for me.”

“Aren’t you tired?” he pleads. “From holding all of this anger? Its gotta be killing you, Sheila. Taking all of your time and energy?”

Sheila doesn’t respond, but she does look how Harley described. As if all the years of anger and resentment have finally sucked the life from her. He sees it in the bags under her eyes, how she looks bonier than ever before. Her hair looks like its loss vibrancy and volume, her hands shake around the gun.

_This is why she hired someone else_ , he notes. _She wants it done, but she doesn’t think she can do it._

“I just need a little longer,” she swallows. “And then I can do it. I can kill you, I know I can. And after that, I can finally let go.”

“If you think that’s all its going to take, then you need a reality check. It never stops hurting that they’re gone. The people who took that happiness can pay, and it will never take that pain away or bring them back.”

Sheila wipes at her eyes. “Maybe not. But it sure can help.”

**)-(**

Peter’s flying around mountain roads, listening to Happy yell at him continuously.

“You can’t just go in, guns a blazing when you don’t have all the information!” Happy is furious. “Christ, Parker, you know that.”

“I know that Harley has disappeared and has been at the same location for thirty minutes. I’m getting close, and I am going to get him.”

“I know you love him, alright?” Happy snaps. “It’s obvious, but its also forbidden because of shit like this. You’re going to get yourself and Harley killed with stupidity because you aren’t thinking about protocol or safety.”

“Happy, I understand if you fire me, but…goodbye.”

“Fu—

Peter hangs up. “Okay, JARVIS, call Ned.”

Ned picks up instantly. “Harley is moving, again, but he’s staying in the same area. You’re still on the right track.”

“Thanks, buddy. Keep watching. Call me if anything changes.”

“Please be safe, Peter. Betty sends their love.”

“Give them my love, too. Ned, if anything happens…”

“You’re my soulmate, bruh. I know what to do.”

Peter’s throat tightens, but he swallows it away. “You always do. I love you man.”

“I love you too, Peter.”

They hang up, and Peter presses harder on the gas.

Ten minutes.

**)-(**

Harley needs to get away from the gun.

“Can I, I don’t know, go to bathroom real quick?”

“I’ve seen enough movies, Harls. I’m not that stupid.”

“Dude, you can watch me,” Harley holds up his hands. “But I drank basically all day to celebrate the holidays, and I have got to pee. You said it was supposed to be a painless death, right? Let me have some relief before you kill me.”

Sheila purses her lips, but nods. “Fine. But I’ll be right behind you the whole time.”

“Fair enough.”

It’s a good thing Harley is a quick thinker.

He really did have to pee, so he goes about his business with a gun at his back. As he's standing there, he sees his out sitting on the back of the toilet in the form of “poop-ery.” He needs to make sure he’s quick, because flushing the toilet doesn’t take very long.

He finishes.

Zips up.

Takes a breath and reaches to flush the toilet.

Presses down.

He grabs the poop-ery, turns around, and sprays it in Sheila’s eyes.

**)-(**

Peter pulls into the house with the numbers Ned had given him. He recognizes Sheila’s car in the driveway and doesn’t even bother turning off the car. He launches out of it and up the driveway. When he gets to the door, he finds it locked, deciding to throw caution to the wind by kicking it open. Gun first (he always has a backup in the car), Peter steps into a fully furnished, well-loved house.

He keeps his footsteps light as he rounds the corner of the entryway. There’s nothing to suggest anyone is there. Ned hasn’t called to say that Harley’s moved, and panic fills him.

Just as he thinks he’s stuck, he sees a flash of movement and tucks into a room in time to avoid a bullet.

“What’s up, Sheila?” he calls. “Didn’t know you could shoot a gun.”

“Bullshit!” she calls back. “We all get the same training, Parker.”

“Fair enough. Where’s Harley?”

“Like I would tell you. I don’t want to hurt you, Peter, but don’t get in my way.”

“If you wanted Harley dead, he would be!”

“I’ve tried a few times. You messed that up.”

Peter hears her move and swings around the corner. He peaks around, seeing her gun propped against the doorway. He can’t see her face, so he aims for her hand and shoots. Her gun drops to the ground while she howls in pain. “Fuck you, Parker!”

He runs for her gun, kicking it out of the way, and aiming his at her chest. “Where’s Harley?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffles. Peter shoots over her shoulder. She raises her hands, one of which is still dripping blood, and cries out. “I swear to God, I don’t know! He sprayed me in the face with something in the bathroom. He ran out, I don’t know where.”

Peter groans. “We’re gonna have to deal with you a little better than you dealt with me. Got any zipties?”

**)-(**

He hears a gunshot.

“Peter,” Harley pants. “Abby. Morgan. Pepper. Tony.”

He stumbles over a root, barely righting himself.

“Happy. Rhodey. Steve.”

His feet hurt, but the faces of those loves flash through his head.

“Steve. Buck. Tasha. Clint.”

He trips again, knee hitting a rock. The pain is blinding, causing a scream of frustration to bubble over. Harley hears another gunshot echo through the woods and pounds the ground with a sob. His body trembles. He’s exhausted, he’s terrified, and his eyes haven’t properly adjusted to the night. Even as he kneels on the ground and sobs, he knows he needs to stop—everything. He needs to stop crying, needs to get up and keep running until he comes across a road or a house. Needs to call his parents and let them know he’s alive, that Peter has been hurt. He needs to—

“ _HARLEY!_ ”

Relief floods through his veins. Peter found him.

Peter is here.

“I’m here!” he yells, pushing on to his feet. “ _Peter!_ ”

“Harley!”

The voice is closer now, so Harley just stops running. He and Peter play Marco/Polo for another minute before he can see the outline of the bodyguard. Harley cries out at the sight of him and practically jumps into the waiting arms. Peter is warm, solid, and holding so tightly Harley is sure he’ll stop breathing.

“I love you,” Peter whispers. His lips pepper kisses across Harley’s brow and hair. “I’m sorry, I’ll quit. I’ll leave the palace, because I love you. I don’t want to lose you, please forgive me.”

“You were right.” Harley buries his hands in Peter’s hair and presses in close. “You got distracted because of me, and you got hurt, and I am…so sorry. I love you, I never want anything to happen to you.”

Peter lets go enough to squat down and scoop Harley into his arms. “It’s Christmas, and you’re barefoot. Typical.”

“Sorry,” Harley croaks. “She didn’t actually give me the option of putting my shoes on before I left.”

“Right. And you sprayed her in the face?”

“What was I supposed to do? Wait for my bodyguard to come save me?”

Peter laughs; the sound is so infectious that Harley joins in. Next the thing he knows, they’re laughing obnoxiously and falling to the snow in a tangle of limbs and giggles. Harley is slightly hysterical. Despite this, he manages to stop long enough to press a smiling kiss to Peter’s lips. There is so much to figure out—Harley’s fear of being locked in a palace for the rest of his life, Peter’s fear of losing the people he loves, their future together and the way arguments often brew. But right now, none of it matters to Harley. They are both alive. They are in love.

They are together, with no intention of ever again being apart.

**And in the end, we were all just humans… drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.**

**Author's Note:**

> maywildflowers on tumblr. hit me up for a trashcan of my faves


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